


Behind Locked Doors

by acosmist_t



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breeding, Cock Warming, Corruption, DDLG, Daddy Dom Draco Malfoy, Daddy Dom Harry Potter, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Edging, Exhibitionism, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Grinding, Humiliation, Kinks, Masturbation, Mommy Kink, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Restraints, Sex, Sex Club, Size Difference, Smut, Threesome, Voyeurism, dom!reader, like it's all smut, mdlb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acosmist_t/pseuds/acosmist_t
Summary: An exploration into the psyche when inhibitions are lost, sexual desires taking up in their absence. Each chapter will explore a new kink, niche, or fantasy. Each character will be best matched to what they would enjoy, and there will be no consistent plot, instead a collection of parts.If there are certain characters and certain kinks you would like to see, leave a comment or ask and I will do my best to satisfy.
Relationships: Blaise Zabini/Reader, Draco Malfoy/Reader, Fred Weasley/Reader, George Weasley/Reader, Harry Potter/Reader, Neville Longbottom/Reader, Pansy Parkinson/Reader, Ron Weasley/Reader, Tom Riddle/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 227





	1. To Observe || G.W. x Reader

**Author's Note:**

> wowza. here we go: 
> 
> Series Warnings: This will be for older audiences, remember. I will likely delve into things that I wouldn’t recommend being exposed to if you’re young. Warnings will be specified on a by-chapter basis, but realize that this is pure smut.
> 
> Again, there is NO plot. These can be read in any order, or chapters skipped, and at the very worst, there will be minor references that you will only know are references if you read the other chapters. They are not necessary for understanding and are merely easter eggs.
> 
> Leave requests in comments or go through my tumblr: @acosmis-t
> 
> Anyways, back to this chapter:
> 
> Word Count: 5.5k
> 
> Warnings: OLDER AUDIENCES. smut, smut, smut. exhibitionism, oral (male and female recieving), edging, voyeruism, restraints, a lot of interesting elements, bdsm
> 
> Summary: The Black Rose is a staple in the underworld of London. You and George are frequent patrons, and while you may not perform, observing is infintely better.

Your hands shook as you stuffed them deep into the pockets of your robes, drawing them tighter to conceal your body. The lingerie underneath was a composition of meager scraps—silk and lace, none of which covering the parts that required covering.

It didn’t matter that this was your fifth time attending the show, the nerves never left. You and George had put enough precautions in place that you needn’t be concerned whether you’d be recognized; you frequented a very private club in the center of Muggle London, and even more, that club provided masks for the sake of anonymity.

You wouldn’t be caught, not really, but maybe those nerves weren’t that of fear. Maybe they were sourced in anticipation. Excitement.

Your sex life had always been a bit more ‘outlandish’, as your friends would describe. Your interests varied greatly, and there were few—if not zero—things you wouldn’t try at least once. George had been the perfect partner, just as depraved and promiscuous as yourself.

It had been in one of those ‘Adult Stores’ that you had been given the pamphlet. The two of you had spent so much time there, tried the most extravagant of products, that the owner knew you on a first-name basis. She had slid the brochure into one of your purchases, leaving it in the bag for when you got home.

That’s what had led you to the bar you were standing in now. It wasn’t nice, rather crude, but that was on purpose. Because those who were worthy knew that there was more than what meets the eye.

Specifically, the red velvet curtain at the very back, hidden by stools and hallways you could only find if you knew to look for them. Muscled guards were standing in front, making sure that no drunks managed to find the disguised extension. The secret world that laid beyond a veil of sultry scarlet.

You and George came into the pub with your hoods up, flashing a red rose—a signal of what your true purpose was. And nobody asked questions, not until you stopped before those guards, already reaching for your tickets.

George held your hand as the two men inspected them, ensuring no fraudulent behavior, then looking back up at you. “Password?” the one on the left asked.

“ _Sentire_ ,” you responded, the Latin tasting unnatural on your tongue. You had left your wands at home—they had no place around Muggles—and you let yourself embrace the mundanity, even if your activities bordered on illicit.

The guards nodded, then pulled the curtain aside, the black and red lights beckoning you in. You and George moved, and the smell of those same red roses perfumed the air; heady and intoxicating. His grip never left yours as you found the check-in desk, providing that ticket once more to the lady standing there.

She followed the same process as the men outside the curtain: inspecting the thick cardstock and asking for the password. George discussed with her this time, and you stared around, but there wasn’t much to see.

The entrance room to The Black Rose was bare, nothing revealed this early. There were black lights, letting those inside see stains from questionable sources, but none seemed dirty. You could make assumptions about what they had come from; impatient souls, not yet cleaned bodies. They added depth, drawing patrons closer and closer.

“What color?” the lady at the desk asked. “Red for performers who welcome audience members, blue for performers limited to their partner, green for those without partners who wish to join a performance, and yellow for audience members only.”

You already knew the color-coding. There were too many parallels to be ignored.

“Yellow,” George answered, knowing this part of the entrance like the back of his hand. The two of you never performed, opting to watch instead.

The lady slid two yellow masks across the desk, ones that could be taken off at any time, but gave an extra inch of personal security. They left mouths free, but disfigured the upper half of the face, not that it wouldn’t be dark enough for the room to do that on its own.

“Follow to the coatroom to drop off any unnecessary belongings, then to the waiting booths. Enjoy your experience,” she finished, pointing toward the right, the torch-lit corridor there.

You and George both thanked her, placing your masks on immediately, then beginning your descent.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


After dropping off your small purse and heavy overcoats, you and George made a way to the booths, letting a masked man draw you to one of the far back ones. You were early enough that only about half of the 20 booths were filled, light chatter and dark whispers floating out the dividing curtains.

“We need to perform a sobriety test to assure you are giving complete and total consent. We employ a breathalyzer and a rapid drug test,” the waiter explained, holding up a small, rectangular piece of metal with a tube attached first.

The first time you and George had gone, the item had stumped you, but you slowly learned more and more about Muggle ways. George always went first, and like now, he blew into the tube for a moment, then backed away.

The small screen lit up green, and the waiter read the number before nodding, moving onto you. You followed the same steps, blowing into the tube, then waiting for the screen to light up again, to which the waiter nodded.

Next, he pulled out two small, medical cups. You and George both took one, opening them to spit the saliva; it was a practiced process by now. When you were done, the waiter took George’s cup first, dipping in the test strip, then followed with yours.

“Excited?” asked George as you waited for the tests to be done. He nudged your leg from underneath the table, smirking at you from across.

You nodded, swallowing at that familiar look in his eyes. “Very.”

The two of you never performed—it wasn’t your style—but you loved to watch the shows. You had already picked out a few recognizable voices, and you rubbed your legs together as you remembered their previous performances. George was the same, and that glint in his eyes darkened as he saw a peek through the thin mesh robe you wore over the lingerie.

You had gotten a few appreciative glances already, people pulling back the curtains to get a better look, but the other patrons stopped when they noticed your yellow mask. Still, you flaunted your figure, leaving them to their imaginations of what you would look like if you were to perform.

You and George made for an attractive couple, and you knew you were gifted enough with your mouth and he with his fingers to easily become a favorite. But again, you preferred to watch, never play.

When the five minutes were up, the waiter pulled out the test strips. Both obtained two stripes, a clear negative for any drugs. He only nodded, recollecting his supplies and packing them into their small case, then pulling out a notepad.

“I need your verbal consent that you agree to everything that comes along with these performances, as specified in the waivers you signed at the coatroom.”

Both of you spoke at the same time, “I consent.”

Another nod, and the waiter continued, “Can I interest you in any food or drinks for the show?” He handed you both menus, but you already knew what you were looking for.

Those in attendance of The Black Rose only needed to stay sober upon entry, then they were allowed to drink, but never much. There was usually a two-drink limit, but it increased or decreased based on certain mixes and options. Consent was key, and so was secrecy.

You looked at George, double-checking he was sure of what you had decided on earlier. He gave a dip of his head, and you turned to the waiter. “Two glasses of red wine and the Aphrodisiac Platter, please.”

The waiter nodded, writing down the order before placing the menus away. “The show will be starting soon and your number is 11,” he handed you a slip of paper. “Once in your indicated seats, your order will be delivered. There is a button on the center of the table that will call for a waiter when needed.”

You took the paper, fumbling with it as you and George thanked him, the black curtain closing as he left. It left you in complete seclusion, the only light coming from the candle at the inside end of the table.

George grabbed your hand over the table, making you drop the number, and he began massaging it. He moved over your palm and fingers, working your joints and muscles. “What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asked, speculating over what was to come.

“Do you remember that man with the nipple piercings from last time?” You giggled slightly as you pictured him. “He was rather good, especially with the brunette.”

“He used the chair, right?”

You nodded, licking your lips. The chair was one of the many options for performances. It had straps, which the man had utilized, and adjusted so it could spread whoever was seated in different ways. You could still hear the noises the brunette had made, the pure ecstasy, as the man had kept her very flexible legs apart, completely opened, lapping at her hungrily.

George’s hands squeezed yours, knocking you from that reverie, and you could feel the slickness start to grow between your legs. “We should invest in one,” he laughed, amused at how ready you were.

“I will make you beg, Georgie.”

“You could never,” he challenged.

“I know the sounds you make,” you countered, whimpering in a mock-recreation of his deeper voice. “ _Oh...oh, please...I want to cum...please, please, please…._ ”

His hands tightened again, and even in the low light, you could see his pupils grow. “We’ll see who’s begging tonight.”

You smiled, already knowing exactly how you would treat him. And right on time, a bell rang outside the booths, lilting and making the growing murmurs pause, and you and George began pulling back the curtain, sharing a smile before exiting the booth.

The 20 patron maximum had been filled, and you noticed some familiar faces (and bodies) as you walked toward the last corridor. You moved through it quickly, eyes catching on the number 11 immediately, and you and George approached it.

The Stage, as they called it, was a circular, amphitheater-like room. There was no fog, but there were the same smells, all of which made you eager for the show to start. It was mostly black, with red couches and hanging decorations spaced throughout.

At the very center, there was a raised dais, which spun in a circle upon the performers’ request, giving audience members a good look at all angles. There were 20 couches total, each curved and plush, with a table in front. Those seats were divided by more curtains on three sides, and there was a thick cloth on the table that hid whoever sat there from whoever was on stage.

It was arranged into two rings; 10 sofas in the innermost circle, closest to the dais, and 10 raised ones in the outer circle, providing a more overhead—albeit farther—view of the show.

You and George were on the taller, second circle, and you situated yourself quickly, pulling the curtains closed all around you so you only had a view of the dais. It was dark, but you preferred it like that; all senses heightened to hearing and touch.

“You’re going to wish I could fuck you on that stage tonight,” George whispered into your ear as you sat down, his arm going around you, and a shudder ran through your body.

“When we get home,” you responded, not even looking at him, “I’m going to make you scream.”

He pressed a kiss to the spot behind your earlobe, then sucking the lobe into his mouth, and your hand shot down to his knee, making him stop. “The show’s barely begun,” you hissed.

His teeth grazed your skin. “You’re too beautiful for me to wait. Every inch of you.”

Still, he didn’t move any farther, only messing with the shoulder of your robe, until it slowly fell down. Then, he moved to the lingerie itself. You leaned into him, leeching any warmth from the cool room, but you knew you wouldn’t stay like that.

The Black Rose, despite it being not-so-legal, did have very strict policies in place: no touching other performers or audience members when not expressly consented to; no cheering or loud noises during a performance; no standing or moving without calling for a waiter; and audience members may have no phallic penetration into anything other than the mouth.

Unless you were a performer, sex was not allowed. Onlookers could watch and play with themselves and their partners, but the show wasn’t about them, and distractions weren’t permitted. Only very specific exceptions—such as cockwarming—were permissible, and even that could be shut down if the participants made too much noise.

You slid your hand up and down his thigh, feeling the rough material of his trousers, and each trip up going just a centimeter higher. His fingers ghosted along your shoulder, causing goosebumps to erupt, and ran over your collarbone, teasing and teasing.

It stayed limited to those barely-there touches, baiting and waiting for the show to start. The lights darkened when it did, and a few rounds of applause went up. It was gratitude given for the performers beforehand, so as not to interrupt the mood when the show fully began.

“Welcome to the Black Rose,” the lady in charge spoke, face adorned with a black mask with white swirls, showing her superiority. “We ask that all audience members follow the rules as established in the pamphlets. We have ID’s for everyone in attendance, and there will be punishment if the club is exposed. This is a bond of trust, and all those here today know they are partaking in an elusive club, and we expect only the best out of our members.”

The speaker continued on, specifying more rules and details about the length of the event, but your attention locked on the preparations happening in the background.

“Look,” George murmured, lifting his head to indicate to the dais, “the chair. You think we could get one in red? Or maybe blue to match the drapes?”

You whispered back, “We do have that spare room for Fred. I’m sure he’d understand if we decide to redecorate.”

“Nipple piercings. _And_ a brunette.”

You nearly squealed in excitement as George pointed out those same performers from the last time stepping onto the dais, replacing where the speaking lady once was. They both wore red masks, and the energy was already tilting in The Stage—preparation for a good time.

“I love when they start off strong.” You readjusted yourself so one of your legs was bent across one of his, granting more access for both of you.

And indeed, George’s arm slid so it was around your waist, hand moving to your thigh, drawing circles with his finger. You arched slightly at the new ministration, but didn’t make any noise, only turning your face up to press a kiss to his pulse point.

A light lit up on the table, and you sighed, leaning forward to open the curtain for the waiter paging you. He was wearing the same black masks as the other ones; he carried a large board in one hand, and a tray with two glasses and a bottle of red wine on it with the other.

He placed them on the table quickly, eyes not straying at your current position. He spared you one curt nod before spinning, securing the curtain behind him.

“Looks good,” George’s hot breath hit a sensitive spot on your neck, and your hand moved up a whole inch, brushing his slowly rousing length. He leaned forward and poured the wine into the two glasses, but didn’t take a sip, nor give you yours.

Your half-lidded eyes fell onto the platter. It did look quite good; pomegranates, strawberries, chili-infused dark chocolate, vanilla, honey, and—true to its name—all sorts of other, sweet aphrodisiacs. You reached for a piece of chocolate, popping it into your mouth and moaning at the warm taste, melting quickly.

George twisted your head, kissing you feverishly as the waiters strapped the brunette to the chair, Nipple Piercings watching with unveiled desire. George ran his tongue along your bottom lip, and you opened for him as he delved in, tasting the sweet.

His finger moved increasingly closer to a pulsing point, and you shifted in hopes of getting so much of a brush of his fingertips there, but he diverted. You groaned against his mouth, ignoring the urge to straddle him entirely, desperate for friction.

“Watch the show,” he said when he broke, and you listened.

Your head was up against his neck, lips grazing the barest of kisses, tasting him. But your eyes stayed locked on the dais, watching as the girl stared down her partner. She bared her throat, and he took that as a signal to begin, murmuring something to an employee before he did so.

The waiter rang a new bell, one indicating that those who wished to participate should prepare to come up in order of table number. Then, without warning, the performance commenced.

The first moan from the brunette was loud, reverberating, and you could feel it in your very soul as she let go of that cry. Her legs were parted, spreading till she was almost in the splits, exposed for the man on his knees before her. For a moment, you closed your eyes, imagining the feeling of a tongue running up your slit, tasting every fold, spit and arousal coating every nerve. You imagined fingers entering you, pumping enough that the brunette cried out again, grinding against the man’s face.

Then, you didn’t have to imagine much.

George’s hand returned to your thigh, ghosting along it, teasing enough that a quiet, lewd moan slipped past your lips, muffled by his neck. Your eyes stayed open, though, watching the girl’s face contort in pleasure, watching the man treat her so well. You rolled your hips, biting your lip as George moved under your lace, drawing up your core.

You scrabbled for purchase, hand finding it on his erect length. He let go of a hiss, but neither one of you moved your eyes from the dais, watching the performance raptly. Your movements were slow, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants so his cock slapped up, clothed by his boxer-briefs.

Your fingers traveled over him, considering his size, but you wouldn’t move all the way—not yet. And similarly, he didn’t work you with his hand, only teased, feeling. He spread your wetness around, circling the entrance, but went no farther.

Both of you froze as the girl’s moans turned unsteady, pleading that she was close. You zeroed in on the spot where the man’s face rested, gorging himself, and you waited for the tell-tale cry of a climax. And just when you thought she would reach it, he stopped.

This noise was different. Her eyes found him, bucking wildly in the chair, but she was trapped, not able to get off by even her thighs. You bit your lip, feeling George’s fingers trail back down, gathering that new arousal and bringing it up to the apex, and he groaned as you pumped him once.

The man backed away, and you bit your lip, wondering what would happen next. A grin grew, and you slipped your hand under the fabric as you realized. The next patron, starting at table two, rose, and you could see the idea click with every participant.

They would make her wait.

Performers traditionally had a time limit of 15 minutes, but you could tell this one would drag on, and the look in the girl’s eyes said the same. She licked her lip in anticipation, and you could only watch, barely realizing George had moved until his fingers slipped in.

“You are absolutely soaked, darling,” he said, and you nodded a response, only paying attention to the scene playing out.

The next man walked up, taking Nipple Piercing’s spot on his knees. The brunette stared down, already shifting to get closer. This man moved slower, pressing kisses up the insides of her thighs until she was whimpering.

George’s fingers pumped out of you a few times, and you subconsciously moved against them, spreading for him to go deeper.

The kneeling man finally latched his lips onto her sensitive bud, and her hips started to buck wildly, trying to get as close as possible. You shut your eyes now, focusing on the sounds leaving her mouth—the cries, the moans, the whimpers, all of it. Vaguely, you heard other audience members groan just as well, and it only served to make you needier.

You brushed your thumb over the head, and George hissed again, a sharp breath. There was precum already leaking from the show, and you began to pump him without hesitance, fast and uncontained.

He began to thrust into your hand, and you sped up, knowing just how he liked these sorts of things. Hard and bold. You paused as the man stepped away from the girl, and you caught a flash of arousal leaking from her hole when he moved, but she still hadn’t cum, as apparent as her cries and bucking.

And that’s how the process repeated. You would pump George at the same pace as the audience went down on the girl, bringing him to the edge, then leaving him hanging. He was whimpering, and you noticed a few stray tears fell from his eyes.

“Don’t cry, my love,” you whispered, drawing a soothing circle on his sensitive head, and he shuddered. “You’ll cum soon—I know how bad you want to.”

“P-Please,” he begged, but you only kissed away those tears, smiling as you did so. You knew he was enjoying himself, knew that every single round may have caused him pain, but it was his favorite type.

There had to be a member of each table participating, and the five-minute warning rang long ago. But the employees were in the interest of the audience, and that meant that the show would go on. Until finally, Nipple Piercings came back up, everyone else cleared away back to their seats.

There were more than a few breathy moans coming from neighboring couches, and you knew that every single person there was in the same position as you: absolutely enraptured.

Nipple Piercings changed the chair settings, leaning it back and unstrapping her legs, which moved with unconcealed tremors as he brought them up over his shoulders, length poised in front of her sensitive entrance.

He dragged up and down her core a few times, and the last you saw was him pushing in as you slipped down onto your knees on the floor, placed between George’s legs.

George looked down at you, but you shook your head. “Watch the show, darling,” you whispered, smiling as you planted your hands on his thighs, leaning forward to lick a stripe from bottom to top of the underside of his cock.

He bucked immediately, and you pinched his skin as he looked down at you.

“Watch,” you hissed again, more forceful.

He swallowed, then nodded, and you saw him let go, zoning out as he imagined himself in another position. You moved up to his head, swirling it with your tongue, letting the sounds of the performers’ groans mixed with George’s ring deliciously in your ears.

You repeated that process. One hand moved to his balls, fondling them in the way you knew he loved. You charted a course of up his shaft on every inch, feeling the way he trembled around you. His hand found your hair as you took him all the way into your mouth, pulling the tresses away from your face and guiding you up and down.

You took as much of him into your mouth as you could, gagging when he hit the back of your throat. You took steadying breaths through your nose, wrapping your other hand around the inches you couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping it in tandem.

He got close quickly, and when you heard that final, orgasming moan from the brunette, you sped up. He hit the back of your throat over and over, and you grazed your teeth against his shaft just lightly enough. Once he gave that first twitch, you went to work.

Your teeth brushed against his velvet, you deep-throated him as much as possible, then pulled out to give extra attention to the head. It only took a few more rounds of that for him to be moaning louder.

“ _Fuck...I’m gonna-_ ” he breathed, and you felt his thigh muscles contract as he came in your mouth, and you were too focused on making sure you swallowed every bit of it to hear Nipple Piercings do the same in the brunette.

You met his eyes once you got down that last drop, and George didn’t hesitate to pull you up, kissing you hardly, utterly drained.

“You…” his chest heaved for a moment, “...you are a _goddess_ ….”

You bit your lip to contain the grin, loving that bit of praise, and sat on his lap, mouth moving back to his neck, feeling his racing pulse against it. “You did well, Georgie. I’m so proud of you.”

His arms slipped around you, one hand rubbing against your thigh, but he knew he wasn’t ready to give you that repayment yet. _Yet_.

The closer seats threw roses onto the stage, a quieter sign of appreciation for a good performance. The girl and Nipple Piercing were led off to a resting room where they could clean off and relax, and another group of waiters brought the chair off the dais, wiping the floor of any fluids and taking the item to be disinfected.

You watched with growing need as the show continued, but there were fewer performances than usual, most already spending their energy on the first one. You watched carefully, loving to see every new kink and dynamic, until the very last performance.

Two girls came onto the stage, and the employees brought up a pedestal behind them, placing it in the center of the dais. The lovers whispered something to one of the waiters, who nodded, grabbing the microphone.

“Audience members will be required to stay in their seats, and our performers will take no other participants.”

The waiter then placed the mic back in its stand far from the stage, leaving the two girls to begin their own show. There was a blonde one and another with dark, tightly-coiled hair. They were both breathtaking, even you could admit it, especially as the latter pushed the former down onto the long pedestal.

The blonde laid herself out, legs falling on either side, and the dais began to spin slowly, providing every watcher a clear look of her entrance—already wet and prepared. You bit your lip, and George decided to finally take you, sliding to his knees the way you had for him.

He pushed your legs apart, and the world turned foggy as he kissed his way up your legs, licking and sucking enough that you knew you must’ve been dripping beyond compare. His fingers moved over your heat, and that was enough to have you moaning, the need for friction that desperately.

The dark-skinned girl began a similar process, kissing all over the blonde, moving up to the entrance, wasting no time as she reached the apex, suckling on it as George did the same to you, and a whimper left your mouth.

You had been sitting for so long—over an hour—and he was finally giving you what you needed. Your hands held onto the edge of the couch as he brought your knees to rest over his shoulders, that much closer to your core.

He licked up and down, slid along the folds, and you watched as the blonde moaned loudly, already crying for more. She reached down, rubbing her clit as the girl on top focused on the entrance. There was so much more intricacy, so many more details that could be understood, between two females. You could only imagine the euphoria the blonde girl was going through, wondering if it compared to what George was doing.

He moved sloppy, open-mouth kisses across the nerves you knew he had spent so much time learning. He knew every one of your sweet spots, and gave each a special sort of attention. You tightened your thighs around his head, needing even more.

He slipped two fingers in, and you gasped—groaned as he curled them to hit that ribbed spot. Then he began pumping again, curling and twisting exactly as you needed.

“ _Yes_ ,” you whimpered, “make me feel so good, Georgie.”

He continued, knowing you well enough to pinpoint every bundle of nerves that had you seeing white spots, employing his tongue, fingers, teeth, lips to play with each one. His lips clamped on your knot, and you saw stars, hand threading through his hair as he went down.

You watched as the blonde girl cried out suddenly, breaking over her climax, and you grinded harder against George’s mouth, feeling that much closer. But he slowed down, drawing your release out, not wanting you to cum too soon.

If you thought the performance was over, you were wrong. The darker girl slid the blonde closer on the pedestal, then sat down as well, bringing one of the blonde’s legs over her right shoulder, placing her left leg over the blonde’s outstretched.

Their knots were touching, and both groaned at the sensation. You remembered your own experiences with other females during Hogwarts, remembered the way that that position was more than just physical.

They moved at a slow pace, rolling hips together, and you knew the blonde had to be overstimulated by now, but she didn’t give up. You could only stare, moving your hips the same way they did theirs, and George brought your legs up off his shoulders, bent even more as he placed your feet to rest where your hands were previously gripping.

You were completely exposed to him, one hand still tangled in his orange locks, the other keeping you grounded while he continued working you. You knew you were writhing, but he stayed steady, drawing you closer to that climax. The dais stopped spinning, and the girl on top was facing directly at you, and you could see with every movement of her hips, their clits separating, then coming back together.

You started grinding quicker against George, and he wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping you spread and bringing you closer. The adjustment opened up a new angle, and you felt a painful itch build—something more than you’d ever once felt.

The girl met your eyes, and you were trapped. She nodded, and you saw her getting close—saw her lips part and her eyes turn to half-lids. 

George’s lips suctioned on your clit, hitting that one spot so perfectly that you had to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moan, riding out those waves of release and pleasure as the performer smiled, speeding up her own pace until you heard the both of them climax as well. It was vague in your ears, still seeing white at the ecstasy running through your veins as George kept going, licking and sucking and teeth grazing until he forced a second orgasm out of you.

Finally, he let up. You closed your legs slowly as he sat back up beside you, running one last finger up your slit, then popping it into his mouth, cleaning it. You stared at him, knowing how flushed you must’ve been, pupils blown.

You saw the table, noticing how you two had barely touched the food and wine. As per usual.

You smiled lightly, scooting closer to him. “Incredible,” you breathed. “Absolutely mindblowing.”

George pressed a kiss to your temple, just as the last performance finished. You registered them cleaning up in the back of your mind, as well as the ending speech, but all you could concentrate on was the look that he was giving you.

The promise that followed the whole time as the two of you cleaned and exited the club, presenting your favorite performers roses, and went out through the bar. You called for a car to take you back home, never leaving the comfort of George’s arm around you.

You remembered what he told you before the show.

_You’re going to wish I could fuck you on that stage tonight._

He wasn’t wrong. Not in the slightest. And you could tell he was remembering your own. As you reached your flat, dimly paying the driver. As you shoved open the door. As you moved into your bedroom, barely waiting till the two of you reached the bed as you all but pounced.

_When we get home, I’m going to make you scream._

  
  



	2. My Little Angel || G.W. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were the Gryffindor Princess. Perfect. Angelic.  
> He wanted to change that, to reveal you to be something closer to a devil.  
> Or just his whore. He didn't know yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 5.3k
> 
> Warnings: corruption kink, restraints, humiliation, virgin!reader, very common use of the term 'slut' 
> 
> Request: "If I could, could I request a size difference and corruption kink chapter with George and a virgin!Reader (with maybe a little bit of George acting a bit possessive, too)?"
> 
> a/n: smut is therapy that's it i said it

You felt his eyes on you before you saw them.

It was a familiar prickling, two orbs focused in on the back of your neck, a million considerations running through them. Sometimes you’d simply be sitting a few rows ahead in a classroom, or others you’d be locked in conversation with Lee—then you’d pause, because you knew someone new was observing the scene.

George had never been as socially extroverted as his twin brother, but his energy when the two of you were in private was twice that of Fred.

And maybe just because you had spent so much time reveling in his adoring stares, you had learned to sense and pick them out in public. To most, he was George Weasley; Beater for the Gryffindor team, the brains behind the infamous pranking duo.

Tall, broad shoulders, golden glow, Weasley-red hair. He was brilliant in that way...and also dwarfed your petite size. So much so, that you could feel him as he came up behind you, shadow completely encapsulating yours in the warm sun.

Your discussion with Cedric stopped, and the boy’s focus flashed up, a hint of a smile quirking his lips. It was all the security you needed as you leaned back, right into George’s strong body, one hand immediately slipping around your waist, gripping tightly.

“I’ll catch you later, Ced, yeah?” you murmured, knowing by the fingers pushing into your side exactly how George was feeling. You smiled a bit in excitement, leaning over to brush against Cedric’s shoulder as you walked away.

Solidifying the mood.

George didn’t bother with niceties as he stalked behind you, letting you lead the way to the Great Hall for dinner. You made sure to say hi to as many of your friends as possible, ever the Gryffindor Princess. Perfect, innocent, an absolute angel.

Once you had gotten into the corridors, still a few staircases and some turns away from the Hall, George grabbed your wrist, yanking you suddenly. You gasped in surprise; a light, breathy sound, and he growled in your ear darkly.

“Everyone’s perfect girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded, oxygen catching and playing in your throat as he pulled you into the nearest empty classroom, shutting the door soundly behind him.

“Georgie, we’re going to be-”

“Don’t worry, darling, I just need to show you something.”

Your brow furrowed, confusing stealing your face. You wouldn’t have time to respond, however, because he was already pushing you into a desk, lifting your small form with ease so you could be seated on it.

“So pure,” he crooned as he leaned forward, pressing kisses along your jaw, grazing with his teeth. “Doe-eyed angel.”

You tilted your head up, giving him better access to your throat, fingers gripping the edge of the desk for dear life. He was all around you, intoxicating as the familiar cinnamon, clove, touch of citrus greeted you. You were already pressing your thighs together, feeling that tension build with such tiny actions.

“Already needy?” A hand grazed up your thigh, feeling the hem of your skirt, then carefully and slowly moving up. “Are you that sensitive?”

“P-please, Georgie,” you whispered, already itching. You and he had taken very limited steps in your relationship—the usual just being his fingers on your clit, but even that happened few times.

“Good girls don’t beg.”

“I’m not begging.”

“You will be.” And then he was kissing across your neck, one hand slipped under your skirt and holding your thigh. His thumb brushed circles, and something unknown and dangerous started to build. His tongue ran over soft spots, making you shudder; his teeth grazed veins, making you stop breathing entirely.

You knew the wetness was growing, knew that an insatiable craving was building, but you were unable to so much as lift a finger, still gripping the wood securely. You thought you might simply float away if you let go.

Then, that damned hand moved further, and he barely swept across your heat, yet tearing your legs apart. You whimpered loudly, needing more of him. You were already soaked from his lips on your neck alone, and you couldn’t imagine what’d he be like in other places.

“Good girls shouldn’t be that loud, darling.”

Another whimper.

“I’m going to turn you into my slut….crush that angelicness underneath my fist. You’ll be on your knees begging for my cock—so unrecognizable.”

You were going to implode.

Thankfully, George finally took you. He brought you closer to the edge of the table, then dove his hands under your skirt and to the waistband of your panties. You bit your lip to contain whatever sound threatened to fall from somewhere deep in your chest.

He slid them down quickly, then held them up in front of you, showing you the wet fabric. “So fucking needy,” he muttered again. Before you could respond, he stuffed the fabric into your mouth, essentially gagging you.

“Hurry.” The word was muffled against the blockage, but still understandable. Dinner was already starting.

George decided to listen. One hand braced against your hip, holding you in place as the other began to circle your clit, drawing patterns, making you squirm. Your face grew hot, feeling so out of place, but never wanting it to end.

He looked you in the eye as his middle finger found your entrance, gathering the arousal as best as he could. The two of you had only just started going this far, and he waited for your nod before continuing.

You gave him that approval, then dropping your head back entirely as he pushed the finger in. You moaned against the new fullness, letting him pump in and out a few times as his mouth found a sensitive spot under your jaw.

You started rocking your hips against his hand, losing all sense of self at the ministration. His teeth bit down lightly on your neck as he added a second digit, a slight stretch, but even better for you.

“ _Oh_ ,” you breathed, hands moving to find purchase around his neck, holding onto him like an anchor. He began to speed up, and you couldn’t help the cry as he curled those fingers against a ribbed spot.

“My little angel is falling apart, isn’t she? Begging for me to fuck her with my fingers.”

You nodded against his dirty words, because you absolutely were. And if you thought you were feeling good before, then the minute he began rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb brought you to full-on euphoria.

Your arms tightened, and you felt him go faster, the sounds lewd to your ears. His thumb hit a bundle of nerves, and you felt an itch build, daunting and something you’d utterly love to fall over.

And you were getting close to it too. You did your best to meet his pace, rolling your hips uncertainly. George smiled against your neck, and you tilted slightly. His fingers curled at the right moment for the itch to be hit perfectly.

The orgasm was fast-approaching, and your eyes rolled back as you completely embraced the feeling, thighs beginning to contract.

“ _Cl-close_ ,” you cried, urging him on, unintelligible against the panties.

Then, it stopped.

He pulled his hand away just as you felt yourself right on the brink, still missing that final push, and you lurched forward, thighs squeezing for that last bit of friction to send you over. But George pressed down on your legs, locking them apart, and leaned to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Where did my innocent girl go?” He smirked deviously, removing the gag; another kiss on your lips. “I promise you, the only thing you will know when I’m done with you is my name.”

You whimpered for the millionth time as the climax waned. “I was almost there, Georgie.” You could hardly imagine what you looked like; pupils blown, hips still rocking painfully, right leg twitching.

“I know, darling. And now it’s time to show everyone else the real slut you are.”

You sighed, ready to get dinner over with so he could finish you off after, but as you reached for your panties, he pushed them into his pocket. Your eyes widened as you realized his intention.

“No- George, I’m _dripping_. People could see it, and I’m already so sensitive-”

“That’s the point,” he pressed the words against your lips, swiping at the bottom with his tongue. “I want you ruined for me.”

“But-”

One more kiss. “If you really wanted me to stop, you would’ve used the safeword. But you like this—so pathetic, aren’t you?”

He pulled back finally, pulling out a bit of the panties, so the fabric was just barely visible. You got up, readjusting your skirt and shuddering at the feeling of being completely bare. George snaked an arm around your waist, then dropped down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp.

And with that, he began walking you to the Great Hall, grabbing your wrists every time you tried to pull your skirt further. You leaned close to him, clenching your eyes as you felt a little some of your arousal drip down your leg while you passed through the doorway.

People and professors greeted you kindly, and you provided a tight smile as George whispered the dirtiest and darkest promises in your ear. He brought you to the middle of the Gryffindor table, tucked between classmates you could hardly recall the names of.

Usually, you were good with your memory, but it failed you as George began playing with you again. His hand stayed on your thigh the entire meal, moving up to brush closer to that still-pulsing heat every so often—mostly when you were mid-sentence. Or when you started turning back into the teacher’s pet the school knew you as.

And neither one of you spoke as you were finally able to go back up to the dorms, silently thanking the fact that you were a prefect and had the room to yourself. You had no duties tonight, and of course, George had been counting on that fact alone.

“Ready, angel?” he murmured into your ear, and your toes curled in anticipation.

You nodded eagerly, looking up at him, eyelashes fanning over your cheeks for those split-seconds where you blinked. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, and his eyes darkened as he realized just how small and pliable you were.

He began pushing you back to the bed, waiting for you to get your head near the pillows before bracing himself over you, straddling. He stared at your parted lips, round and soft and cool. “I am going to _destroy_ you,” he ground out.

You bit that lip, feeling every bit as inexperienced as you were, but that only seemed to turn him on more, crushing down for a bruising kiss. You responded hungrily, wrapping your legs around his waist, but he pulled back to shove you back.

“You are _mine_. I’m going to claim you, and that means you don’t so much as act against me. You are my slut tonight, and every night after.”

You nodded, suddenly grateful for your lack of panties so you could relieve just a bit of that tension with your thighs.

His hand jumped down, separating you roughly, lightly slapping your core. “You’re still a virgin, yeah?”

“Y-yes. Take me, Georgie. Please, take me already,” you whined, writhing on the sheets.

Your innocence, the easy ability to take it away...it drove him mad. He started back on your neck, starting to suck so love bites formed, brilliant against your skin. He drew those same patterns with tongue and teeth, finding your earlobe—the sensitivity behind it—and gave that area extra attention.

Something began to pool, more than it had in the classroom, and you tugged his head back up to meet your lips, needing a connection to bring you back to the surface. His hands began to work at your shirt, deigning to simply tear it off, and at the same time, ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth.

You opened at his requests, amazed by his multitasking when you could barely comprehend which part of the satisfaction he was giving to focus on first. He was gorging himself on you, tasting every centimeter of your mouth in the most obscene, erotic sense. At the same time, his fingers were undoing your bra, getting the straps off of you without breaking apart.

When he managed to do so, his fingers found your nipples, not hesitating to tweak them, making you groan. He swallowed the sound, increasing the fever of it, turning it into a heavy, breathtaking kiss—the kind that made you nearly cry out in delight when his hand ghosted along your heat, drawing up the arousal.

But the moment was soon over, and he finally backed up, touching the same fingers he had dragged along you to your lips, getting your own wetness on them. Your tongue darted out, tasting, then you latched onto his wrist, bringing it forward so his fingers were in his mouth.

You hollowed your cheeks, making eye contact with him as you sucked, and his face lined with something even darker.

“Little slut,” he muttered. “Angels shouldn’t tease.”

And as always, you didn’t get the chance to respond. His lips latched onto your nipple, removing his hand from your hold so he could knead your other breast. You arched into the touch, once more wrapping your legs around him, grounding your core for the sheer friction.

George didn’t stop you, more focused on making your nipples as swollen as possible. And he was succeeding, because there were lips and teeth and tongue and pain and pleasure, making you moan unabashedly.

“George...please….”

You could feel his smirk, and he licked the flat of his tongue up across the other nipple, showering it in attention. You rolled your hips, groaning at the feeling and whimpering because you needed more of him.

“Pathetic. Can’t even control yourself.”

Another roll, and you didn’t imagine the glimpse of his length hardening. “I’ll be your slut. Please give it to me.”

“What do you want?” Vaguely, you registered him murmuring a nonverbal spell, but you were too distracted to notice what it was.

“Your…” His fingers circled your clit, and you nearly lost all common sense. “My...my cunt...clit….I don’t know….” You were too breathless to form coherent thoughts, not when his mouth was still doing _that_.

And to your enjoyment, he moved, kissing all down your stomach, not letting up until a hickey started to form at every place his mouth met. He dropped his hands to the zipper at the back of your skirt, torturously slow as he undid it, removing that last fabric from your body.

You hadn’t realized he’d grabbed something until his hand was stuffing your panties from earlier back into your mouth. You took them, sighing as he continued his work, kissing and sucking until he reached _there_.

“I want you to scream so loud that even those won’t muffle it. Everyone should know exactly who you belong to—exactly who is ruining you.”

You closed your eyes, body arching off the bed as his hands took hold of your hips, thumbs pressing to the slight hollow part under the bone. He spread your legs, looking at your soaking cunt like it was his own personal dessert. A kid in a candy shop.

“Has anyone ever gone down on you? Ever even touched you?” he asked, his breath making shivers wrack through you as it hit your clit.

You shook your head. _Only you_.

George looked up at you one last time, smiling greatly at finding he was the first. And just as he wanted, you nearly screamed at the first lick of his tongue.

It was a broad stroke, unfocused but completely mind-blowing. He latched his lips onto you, tongue doing all kinds of dances. It circled your clit so perfectly that you looked up, trying to find heaven or gods or whatever it was that Muggles prayed to because this felt absolutely _divine_.

Instead, you were greeted with a mirror, and you could’ve climaxed from that alone. You remembered George had mentioned something about doing work in your room weeks ago, and that spell from earlier must’ve revealed it.

You could see yourself. The small, dainty figure you had known your whole life. Pert breasts, pretty hair, supple skin. The mirror on the ceiling showed you that and so much more. Because your knees were up, bent as high and as far apart as they could go, held in place by two large hands.

The lower half of your body was covered, a mop of red hair the culprit. You could see the muscles flex and move under his shirt, each dip of his head as he moved to get a new angle, tasting every nerve. You saw your mouth contort into an O as he probed your entrance, hands pushing harder as you tried to close your thighs.

You were no longer seeing the mirror—no, you were seeing _stars_. He flicked across folds and let his teeth graze and then he pushed his tongue inside of you and you could’ve cried. You half-recognized you were trembling, legs shaking as he stimulated you with practiced precision.

You tried to grind your hips, needing more, and he removed his tongue, moving up to latch those lips around your clit, making you buck violently. His teeth hit it so gently, but enough to make an impact, and you screamed. Loudly.

One hand lifted from your legs, and before you could understand, two fingers were inside of you, pumping like they had in the classroom. They curled and you thought you were set on fire, titillating ecstasy.

George’s eyes flashed up to yours, and you knew what he was asking. You nodded, squeezing your eyes at the stretch from him adding a third finger. You knew you should better get used to it now; it was preparation for what was to come.

He turned back down, and you watched the mirror, drowning and flying at the same time. It was a beautiful sight, seeing him shove your legs apart and go down completely on your virgin cunt. You wanted more.

His fingers curled again. Every thought eddied from your head.

Then his other hand reached up, and your eyes tracked as it found your sensitive nipple, tweaking it; pleasure and pain. He flicked over it just as his fingers curled and his lips closed over your nub.

You didn’t know what was happening until you screamed again, waves of something delicious running through your veins and making every muscle spasm. You came on his mouth, and he kept sucking as you rode it out, bucking against him as his tongue gave one last lick from entrance to clit.

He removed his fingers. This time, he brought them into his mouth, tasting and cleaning off your climax. You carefully tried to bring your legs back down, but George kept them in the air, reaching deftly under the bed and pulling out a Polaroid camera you bought him for his birthday.

“Smile,” he said, holding the lens up to his eyes, knees still up at your sides.

You managed to quirk your mouth slightly around the fabric, two fingers playing with your swollen and oversensitive clit. George groaned as the flash went off, the developing photo coming out the bottom. He shook it, trying to speed it up, and you slowly got to your knees and removed the gag, still barely functioning.

“Far from angelic now,” he muttered, clearly pleased with what he had done. And he wasn’t wrong—you looked the exact opposite from what you had always been known as.

There were markings all over your body—hickeys courtesy of his mouth. Your pussy was enlarged, stimulated, cum leaking out of your entrance and moving down. Spit and that same arousal covered you, sloppy and incredible. There was a darkness in your eyes that you’d never seen before.

You would’ve stared some more, but George’s hand shot out, grabbing your jaw and tilting you so you were a breath away from his face. You looked behind him to find more mirrors—great things that would provide a million different angles.

He caught you looking, then smiled, hand tightening as he led you off the bed. “We’re going to try something new. You want my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes. I want it all.”

“My little whore.”

You nodded again.

“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

George reached into his nightstand, pulling out some intricate silk and a hair tie.

You smiled, taking the tie and placing your hair in a ponytail, getting it out of your face. It took away any last attempts at veiling, and he drunk in your figure, one hand big enough to encircle your arm as he twisted you so you were leaning on the bed, stomach down, ass exposed.

He trailed a finger along you, your curves, dimples and flaws that would usually make you insecure but the way he was looking at you right now making you feel like an angel.

Or the whore he said you were.

You didn’t mind either one.

He secured your hands behind your back, the silk tight, but loose enough that you knew you could get them off if you really wanted to. “Safeword is pineapple, right?”

You nodded, so much happier that your boundaries had been established sooner, rather than later. “Yes.”

“And you won’t go farther than you think you can handle, right?”

“If I need to, I’ll use the word. I trust you.”

He smiled, genuine, and brought you back up so you were standing in front of him, hands tied. Then, he pulled you a few feet to a position where you could be reflected across three different mirrors on the walls and ceiling.

You were on your knees, the camera was a bit away from him, but in reaching distance for his long arms. George took off his shirt, exposing gleaming skin and toned abs. The Quidditch player. His pants came next, so he was just as bare as you were.

You got comfortable on the carpet, mouth watering as his cock slapped up against his stomach, the beads of precum already forming as he saw your form. He had taken that innocence away—taken it away with lips and tongue and cum and a million new flavors.

Corrupted.

You opened your mouth, ready for him.

And he obliged.

It was your first time doing anything of the sort, and George knew that. You tried to take him into your mouth, but it didn’t work. He was bigger than you expected; long and thick and veiny. You changed your method, rising as high as you can to try a single lick, the entire underside of the shaft.

The resulting groan was encouragement enough.

You tried it again, this time spending a bit longer at the head, and George tilted his length down so you could reach it better. In different circumstances, it would have been amusing, but for now, you were focused on a single goal.

Be exactly who he wanted you to.

Slowly, you became more comfortable, learning which spots yielded which sounds. And at that point, you knew that your actions weren’t the only thing edging him on. Just the sight of you was; those doe-eyes he always complimented, your teeth biting into your lip as you considered him, the curve of your back as you tried to be pretty for him, breasts sticking out slightly.

You were also rubbing your thighs again, the scene playing out only making your sensitive core crave more.

His hand found your ponytail, wrapping around _it_ while you wrapped your lips around _him_. You tried to take him into your mouth again, and it worked out better. You started with slow movements, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue in tandem. There was too much for you to throat the entirety of him, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

You picked up speed, still shallow thrusts, and observed what made him feel best. You flattened your tongue on the bottom of your mouth, so every bob had the warm, wet feeling running over the head and down the sensitive underside.

George began guiding you, bringing you forward, fucking your mouth with barely restrained patience. He hit the back of your throat, and you gagged slightly, then focused on your breathing; determined.

A flush began to creep down his body, and the image of his head tilted up, eyes half-lidded as he fucked into your lips made you swallow, the movement earning a moan. You laughed a little, and that vibration earned something even sweeter.

That’s when you sped up. You wanted to give him the best head of his life—that was your current mission. And even if he had gotten better, you had enough time to perfect this. You took a lesson from him, grazing the velvet shaft with your teeth, and his hand pulled your hair tighter.

So, you did it again.

You stopped gagging so much, and you looked up to see him watching in the mirror on the ceiling, giving a perfect view of everything. You caught his eye in the reflection, another nod of your head, and he took control.

You hollowed your cheeks every time he entered completely, but his hand was the sole thing controlling the thrusts. He stopped caring that this was your first time, resolute on his plan to turn you away from that innocence and into something much more experienced.

And it was working.

He twitched in your mouth, and you sighed, excitement thrumming in your veins. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted to make him cum.

But then he pulled out, cock covered in spit and precum. Then, reached for the camera, and you stuck your tongue out for him, looking up under your eyelashes like you knew he liked. 

The flash went off, but he didn’t bother to check the photo, simply lifting you to your feet. His ears were pink, and you’d never seen him so disheveled. 

“You want more of me? Want me to claim you?” he growled, pressing a searing kiss, tongue unhesitant to play with yours.

“Claim me. You wanted me to be your slut, didn’t you? If you don’t take me, then maybe someone else will….”

He didn’t let you get another word out, grip bruising tight as he removed the silk and shoved you so you were on the bed again, moving back up to the pillows and directly underneath the mirror.

You admired yourself for a minute, and then you admired George as he moved over you, one hand holding your face in place, making you meet his eyes, and the other going between your thighs.

“Already in the mood for more? You probably can’t even take me, you stupid slut, can you?” he hissed, starting with three fingers, your hole still slightly stretched.

You winced, knowing just how sore you would be tomorrow. “Do you want me or not?”

“Watch that attitude, or I’ll have you cumming until you’re too stuffed to even move.” He saw you shift, saw your pupils expand until your eyes were almost all black, little iris to be seen. “I’ve turned you into such a whore. Are you a cumslut, too? So very dirty.”

You released a breathy moan, bringing his lips to yours, kissing him until you couldn’t think, his fingers still opening you up as much as possible.

“Take it like a good girl,” he commanded, finally aligning himself. “Bite my lip when it hurts.”

You nodded, a hint of apprehension sparking, but that desire beating it out. “Do it already.”

You felt him smile against your lips, prideful.

 _Bastard_.

You sunk your teeth down the minute he pushed the head in, already feeling a bit of pain. He was too large, and you were too small. But nonetheless, you bent one leg up, trying to spread the best was possible.

He moved in another inch.

Wince.

Another two.

Tears gathered.

He pulled out slightly, then pushed back in.

A gasp, but one edged in pleasure, not pain.

That’s how the process went. It was slow, unrushed, careful. Much as he wanted to take away that purity, he had no urge to hurt you. He moved in a few inches, then out, making sure the head stayed inside. Over time, he added a bit more, letting you bite down when you needed to, or stopping to let you breathe.

But anytime he’d pause, you’d rock your hips, telling him to keep going. Eventually, he buried his entire length in you, and you felt so full that you barely could move. George did his best to help you adjust to his length, and you learned to get past the burning sensation, instead focusing on how he hit so many new nerves like this.

Then, he pulled out, still only a bit, then pushed back in. When grimaces were overtaken by moans, he began to speed up. The smarting sensation was distant, faint compared to the pleasure he gave you when he angled your back, scraping against your g-spot.

The only sounds became slapping skin; grotesque, erotic, wet noises as he slid back in; and growing moans. You embraced every one of them, especially as George guided you to roll your hips in time with his thrusts, taking you to a new level.

He was getting close quickly, and he slipped a hand down to rub fast circles on your clit to bring you with him. You closed your eyes, concentrating on two senses; touch and sound.

Because while his ministrations and hips snapping into you were enough to bring you close to another orgasm, his voice made it even better. He whispered dark, sensual things in your ear; how good you felt, how tight and warm. He told you how much of a slut you turned into, how much less of that good girl you usually were.

How he took that innocence away, and was now claiming you entirely.

That’s what broke you over the edge, and the sound that he muffled with his lips, that he swallowed, had him fastly approaching that peak.

“Where do you want my cum? You want it all over you, don’t you?” he began pulling out, rising to his knees, and you pushed to your forearms.

You could only nod, still coming down from your high, and maybe it was that dark glint in your face and a few pumps of his hand, but your name finally tumbled from his lips, his release coating your chest in thick ropes. He sat back on his haunches when he was empty, breathing heavy and a sheen of sweat covering his body.

He groaned as you ran your finger through the cum, coating it, then touching it to your tongue. It was sweet and salty at the same time; not good, but also not terrible, all things considered.

This time, you reached for the camera, snapping your own picture with your finger between your lips, your breasts covered with the fluid caught at the very bottom. Then, you dropped the camera to your side, clenching your teeth against the soreness, the bruises you knew would be forming soon.

You kneeled in front of him, touching his face gingerly, giggling at yourself. “Was I good for you? Did you like taking that innocence away, Georgie?” You made sure your eyes were wide, pure as you asked the question.

His voice was hoarse as he answered, “Brilliant.” He shook his head, getting up slowly, then reaching for you to come with him to the shower.

You followed him, tiredness creeping along your mind, but you wanted to be clean. And he turned on the shower to something warm, comforting. This was what they meant when they said ‘domestic bliss’.

George helped wash your shaky body off in the wet streams, still murmuring things in your ear. Things that made you grin deeply. 

“You were so amazing,” he said as he washed off your chest, proudly eyeing the red and purple marks left behind. “I never knew you were such a good slut, my little angel.”


	3. Make Daddy Proud || H.P. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: pls consider harry x daddy!kink? 🥺
> 
> Summary: Harry needed to blow off some steam. You were more than ready to oblige, but perhaps not quite prepared for what he planned for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3.8k
> 
> Warnings: smut, ddlg, forced orgasm, oral (male receiving), a touch of degradation, major overstimulation, vibrator/dildo
> 
> a/n: i love this series so much. soft ddlg makes my heart do fun things. and yes, that is a blackbear song, but there’s no connection to the fic itself, i just love the title

You knew what was coming the minute you saw his face at breakfast. It was determined, a touch angry, and even more hungry. Hungry for an outlet, not a meal.

And when his eyes met yours, you couldn’t help the grin—not when you already knew what Harry needed.

It was one of the final Quidditch matches of the school year, the win essential if Gryffindor had any hope of winning the House Cup. And of course, it was against Slytherin.

You could hear Malfoy’s taunts all down the corridors, snarky remarks and nasty insults to discourage the opposing team. Harry always took offense to it, his loathing for Malfoy so evident as he pushed around his food.

“You need to eat more,” you murmured as you dropped into the seat next to him, bumping your favorite Seeker’s shoulder. “You need the energy.”

“Energy is not what I need,” Harry muttered back, but did take a long sip of his pumpkin juice. “He’s just so insufferable—trying to make us lose. And he doesn’t even try to hide those looks at you.”

You rubbed his back soothingly. “He’s a prick, don’t pay him any mind.”

“Not even going to defend the part where I said he stares at you?”

You laughed, knowing how Harry got sometimes. “Don’t get jealous on me, Potter. Malfoy is nothing.”

He turned back to his meal, still not satisfied with your consolation. But it didn’t last long, McGonagall calling the team to start warming up on the pitch. Harry shoved up from his seat, and you only managed to squeeze his hand once as he stalked off.

He didn’t return the affection.

Ron shook his head, chuckling. “Seems like he got his broom stuck up his ass instead of where it should be.”

You smiled back. He wasn’t wrong. And that’s what made it so much better. Because you knew what Harry wanted—no, needed. Some good luck, and you didn’t mean Felix Felicis. Something to wind him down slightly, to take off the edge.

You barely finished your own breakfast, already figuring out your plan. You just needed to get your boyfriend alone. After that, it would be a piece of cake. 

So, you only waited a handful more minutes, each second dragging on longer than the last, before quietly excusing yourself from the table. You briskly walked from the Great Hall, intent set on getting to your dorms and then onto the pitch in the next ten minutes.

Once in your room, you grabbed the small, silk pouch that contained just a few of your favorite items. You also grabbed a longer robe, knowing you would probably need it. And with that, you all but ran to the pitch, the locker rooms bustling with Gryffindor Quidditch players, all anxious for the game to start soon.

Your eyes locked onto Harry’s, and the expression had not changed. In fact, it seemed to have worsened. He lifted an eyebrow, questioning your purpose for being there, and you bit your lip, trying to make the message clear.

Harry grinned.

He lazily walked to the entrance you were still hiding at, letting you shift anxiously as you watched him move. He was already in his gear, red robes floating around him, and you could make out the strong muscle that conducted each action.

You grabbed his hand the moment he reached out, letting the team be distracted by something the twins were doing as you pulled Harry into the connecting room of showers. He tightened his grip on your hand, making you slow down, risking more people noticing your presence.

But alas, you finally made it to your designated location, yanking Harry into one of the stalls and pulling the curtain closed behind you.

“Surprise,” you grinned, grabbing his chin so his lips could meet yours. And Harry wasted no time in responding, hand curving around your wrist, acquiring dominance.

You numbly dropped the bag behind you as he pushed you into the wall, him nearly knocking against the showerhead. He kissed you feverishly, lifting your legs around his waist so he was the only thing keeping you from falling. More dominance.

He nipped at your lip, and you gasped softly, his tongue darting out to taste yours as soon as your mouth opened. You could already feel him getting hard, and you grinned again, watching the ceiling as he trailed a path across your jaw and down your neck.

“You’re lucky I can’t leave bruises right now,” he breathed, “or you would be _covered_.”

You hummed in response, rolling your hips at his ministrations. He found one spot under your jaw that made an ache build, hidden in your lower stomach. “Harry-”

“Wrong.”

You bit your lip, closing your eyes as he began tracing back up to your mouth. He was slow with it, like he didn’t have no more than 15 minutes before he was needed on the pitch. You prayed Fred and George could distract the team a little bit longer, never wanting the moment to end.

Finally, he reconnected with you, growling a little when you didn’t respond. You wanted to tease him, knowing the difference it made. You could practically hear his blood thrumming, that anger and energy finding some semblance of release.

But you weren’t done yet.

“What’s my name?” he said against your lips, teeth catching on the bottom one.

“Ha-”

“You know better, princess.” His hand found your right breast, pinching the nipple over your clothes, and you gasped at the small hurt.

“Daddy.”

“Good girl.” And then he continued, leaving marks that wouldn’t stay—promises for something more permanent later.

You almost lost yourself in it, wasting two more minutes of him driving you absolutely, certifiably insane. But then, you remembered your purpose, hands finding his shoulders and pushing him back. His fingers tightened around you, refusing your declination.

Teeth meeting your neck. A different not-quite-gasp leaving your mouth. A louder one.

Again, you scrabbled against his shoulders, pushing him back and wiggling your hips to get your legs down. Harry listened this time, looking down at you; confused. But you gave him no time to question, only pushing him back so he met the opposite wall. His brow furrowed, and he only grabbed that vice on your chin, trying to return your lips against his.

“What’s up, princess?” he whispered, eyes watching as you pressed both hands against his chest, then slowly sliding down. All the way to your knees.

“How much time?” you asked, pushing his robes out of the way to fumble with the strings at the crotch of his pants. You tilted your head toward him, but his eyes seemed glazed, acting like time was only a figment of _your_ imagination.

He eventually recollected himself. “Ten minutes.” He glanced above the curtain, impossibly tall, then looked down at you again. “Better get to work.”

You smiled, biting your lip for only a minute before undoing the other fastenings and straps, letting his cock spring free. It was already hard, but you knew you could get it bigger. You spit in your hand, wrapping it around him, going as high as you could on your knees, then started pumping.

He groaned immediately, flinching as you ran your thumb over the tip, feeling the slit, before returning down. You flicked your wrist as you went, artful and precise as you gave him that pleasure. Start at the top; move down; back up, flicking your wrist simultaneously.

It was a process you had perfected, knowing just how well it worked. And as planned, a bit of precum started leaking, falling down to help lubricate the action. You let it happen, going faster, thumb brushing over the tip at every rise.

“Nine minutes. You’ll be punished if you can’t get me off.” His voice was strong, but you could tell he was holding in a groan as your other hand traced his balls, making him shudder.

“Yes, daddy,” you responded, deeming him ready enough. You went up even higher, then let his length slide into your mouth, not bothering with the more-sensitive tip. You had lost your gag reflex a long time ago. The rest you pumped with your hand.

You began bobbing, twisting and folding your tongue every time you backed up, intricate pleasure. Harry’s groans grew louder, and you smiled, knowing fully well that there was no Silencing Charm on the room.

His eyes fell down to that grin, and his hand moved to wrap around your hair, still gentle as he grabbed from the roots. He pulled you off of him, tilting your head up to look at him. You let some of that saliva-mixed-with-precum dribble down your lip, moving to your chin. 

His eyes darkened at the sight, voice hoarse as he ordered, “Spit on it.” You followed the command, spitting on his length for even more lubrication. That seemed to be enough, because his hand tightened its grip. “Eight minutes.”

You nodded, going back to your work. Harry was guiding you this time, fucking into your mouth, uncaring when you made small sounds, tears rising. He went all the way to the hilt, making you deep-throat his entire length.

“A good slut, aren’t you? A toy for daddy to use.” His tone was laced with that hunger, completely thrusting into your mouth. He told you as each minute ticked by.

There was a louder groan at seven.

His hand tightened at six.

Your teeth grazed him at five.

You felt him twitch at four.

His muscles started to contract at three, your hollowing cheeks the culprit.

And at two...at two, there were hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat, and Harry didn’t let up until you swallowed them.

He pulled you off of him, letting the wall take his weight. You moved to your feet, closer to his height again, and you wiped some of the cum that came out of your mouth with your thumb. You lifted your hand, preparing to fling it off that way, but Harry grabbed your wrist, preventing the movement.

His other hand moved to your face, twisting so he could get your jaw opened. “You better take it all, you stupid slut.” And then he spit in your mouth, bringing your wet thumb past your lips to wash it down.

You followed his instruction, sucking off the thumb, one last audible gulp. Then, you backed up, completely forgetting about that silk bag until your foot came into contact with it. You bent down slowly, allowing Harry to redo his jockstrap and uniform.

He snatched it from your hands, opening it quickly. A smirk carved itself onto his face as he took it in. “My princess thought she was going to get played with as well, did she?”

You nodded, hoping the twins could spare you some more time.

“It’s a shame there’s only a minute left. We can’t do much in that time...unless….” His hand found your throat, the other pulling something you couldn’t see out of the bag. “Are you wet for me?”

Wet would be an understatement.

“I-I am,” you sputtered, feeling your robes being parted and your skirt pulled down, panties with it. “B-But there’s...there’s only a min-”

Harry cut you off as he thrusted something into you. Something long and silicone and hitting multiple impossible spots. A vibrator. “I think that’ll take care of you for the next hour and a half, yeah?”

Your eyes widened, then rolled back as you subconsciously shifted, your g-spot being hit so perfectly that your knees buckled. You straightened, readjusting yourself, accustoming your body to the new presence. “I can’t wait that long,” you whined.

“You will. For me.” Harry started pulling back the curtain, letting you fix your skirt and robe first. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before walking away, so much calmer and focused than when you had found him. “Make daddy proud.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


You had been left with a lot of options.

You could take the vibrator out. Harry would punish you.

You could use it to reach your orgasm right in that shower stall. Harry would punish you even further.

You could listen. Harry would praise you.

You went with the last choice.

You walked stiffly to the stands with Hermione, focusing on anything but the nerves that were brushed with every single step. You played it off as a small cold, a stomach ache, wrapping your robe closer to your body. Not because of a chill, but because your arousal began leaking down your leg.

Hermione tried to take you to the Hospital Wing, but you declined, gritting your teeth as the two of you took your seats. The vibrator had been secured inside, but the minute you sat down, you swore it sunk another inch. It rubbed against your most sensitive spot—Harry’s favorite to hit—and you had to hold in the moan.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” she asked, concern lacing her tone. “You don’t look well at all.”

“Fine,” you said. “Feeling great actually.” You pulled the robe closer, your cunt so sensitive that you gasped as it moved against the cold wood.

She looked unsure, but turned her head the minute the Quaffle was thrown into the air, watching the game intently. You did the same, ignoring the way that you saw white spots every time the students around you jostled, bumping up against your body.

And after a few minutes, you really thought you could handle it. It wasn’t _so_ bad, once you got used to it. You caught Harry’s eye a few times, and he smirked like he knew something you didn’t, but his concentration was on the Snitch.

You had been watching him, flying quickly on his broom, when Hermione pushed your shoulder, pointing to one of the Gryffindor Chasers launching a Quaffle at the Slytherin goal. The crowds silenced for a second, then exploded as the green Keeper missed it, the ball flying through the hoop with ease.

You cheered with them, jumping to your feet, and once more, Harry met your gaze. He was grinning—grinning for another reason.

“ _Fuck_.” The word slipped from your mouth, and you hid the adjoining moan behind a cough. Because the vibrator turned on, buzzing slowly inside of you.

Hermione turned to you, but you just shook your head, telling her it was nothing when it definitely was _not_ nothing. It was a low setting, not enough to make you climax, but you felt a bit of wetness get onto your skirt. And you nearly died when you sat back down, vibrator sliding in to hit that same spot.

You would have been shifting around, nervous, if that didn’t make it even worse. It made an ache build, a far-off edge that you needed to meet.

It only got worse as the match continued, and you began to realize the rules of Harry’s all-but-torture.

Every time Gryffindor made a goal, the vibrator sped up. Every time Slytherin made a goal, the vibrator slowed down.

The game was rough. You kept hiding behind coughs and sneezes as that weapon buried inside you switched settings. Harry winked at you every time he passed your stand, and you narrowed your eyes. You would also see him mouth the same words.

 _Make daddy proud_.

And you would. So you sat and waited and got brought to the edge over and over before being brought down. You swore Slytherin must be cheating in some way because the matches were never _this_ tied. The two teams were head to head, Slytherin in the lead, but Gryffindor slowly gaining on them.

You couldn’t help but rock in the seat, hoping the tension of the crowd would cloud the fact that you were fighting orgasm after orgasm. And when Gryffindor made one more goal, bringing the match to a tie, you shifted just as the vibrator sped up.

You had to use your hand to muffle the sound as you came, climax breaking over you. You had gotten so sensitive at that point, every nerve set on fire from what felt like hours of sitting there. And you had a feeling the match was far from over.

And—unsurprisingly—Harry didn’t turn it off. He kept it buzzing inside you, and you had to clench your eyes shut to ignore the overstimulation, making you feel numb and burning at the same time.

“You’re really flushed,” Hermione said, bringing a hand to your forehead. “I really think you should go see Madam Pomfrey. It could be an infection that’s making you feel so bad.”

Oh, how wrong she was.

You shook your head. “Fine...fine. I want to finish watching.”

The other girl peered at you carefully, then nodded, turning back to the match just as the vibrator sped up, making you see all sorts of stars. Harry grinned at you across the pitch, and you pressed your lips together, glaring.

His eyebrows rose. _Attitude?_ they said.

You shook your head immediately, not wanting to be punished when this was already agony. Putting on your best smile, you cheered loudly for him, making him nod and turn back to his role.

Over the last half of the match, you hit three more orgasms, each one more painful than the last. You were practically trembling in your seat, not trusting your ability to walk. Hermione kept asking you questions, telling you that _you look really ill_ . But you refused her every time, telling _her_ it was just a stomachache.

The reality donned on you the minute you saw that look enter Harry’s eyes. The one that said he was about to catch the Snitch. He zeroed in on it, passing by every player as his hand reached out. You had no clue what level the vibrator would reach when his fingers closed around it.

You bit your lip, fighting the buzzing inside of you, praying to be spared because you were that sensitive. You knew it was coming—knew that the setting you were at was not the maximum. Not yet.

You heard the cheers first, the screaming because his hand latched around it. But then it all faded, that vibrator speeding up so much that tears fell, you rocking as it forced _at least_ two climaxes out of you. You had to hold in the sobs, because it hurt that badly.

Your knees trembled without any pressure on them, and you tried to zone out as the pleasure kept being drawn, feeling entirely numb at that point. Harry saw you across the pitch, and you squinted at him, seeing sounds and hearing colors.

He nodded, and the vibrator shut off. You felt so much tension release, your breath finally leaving your body.

The next 30 minutes were a blur.

The team managed to pick Harry up, carrying him around like a trophy, and you shakily followed Hermione out of the stands, using your robe to hide exactly what you knew soaked your skirt. The Gryffindors held a small celebration in the locker room, and you stood to the side, waiting for the moment they all littered out.

It took forever, and your legs nearly gave out multiple times, body relying on one of the walls to support you. Harry seemed to be completely happy, acting like you weren’t painfully needing him to finish up his partying.

And finally, finally, finally, he did.

There was a promise for an actual party in the common room that night, and Harry swore he’d be there, only needing to grab a few things from the showers. The twins spared him a look, then one to you, and your cheeks burned—more than they already were.

But they left, leaving just you and Harry in the locker room. He started walking toward the showers, and you limped after him, barely standing. You didn’t bother going to the stall with him, all but collapsing on the bench while he showered.

You wanted to take it out, but you knew you had to wait. And you wouldn’t be surprised if Harry was taking his time, just to delay it. You shut your eyes, completely laying out, feeling almost nauseous, especially after the breakfast you had rushed a few hours earlier.

Eventually, he exited the shower, only wearing a pair of sweatpants, not yet changing to go back to the castle. He approached you, crouching down next to your prone form.

“Feeling alright, princess?”

“Take it out. Right now.” You felt every muscle rack with occasional tremors.

He laughed, low and relaxing. “What’s the magic word?”

“Har-”

He tsked. “Wrong.”

“D-daddy. Please take it out, daddy,” you implored, wiping away the remaining tears.

Another laugh, gently pulling away your robes, lifting your skirt slowly. “How many times did you cum?”

“Lost count. Five? Six? That bloody Snitch set me off.” You were whimpering at this point.

“And you liked that, didn’t you? Liked your reward?”

You laughed, then winced at your sore thighs and abs. “Yes, daddy. You treated me so well. Please take it out.”

“Impatient,” he tutted. “But you did well.” And then, he was grabbing the vibrator, pulling it out slowly. And right as he almost had it out, he thrusted it back in.

You screamed, hands going down and grabbing his wrists. “No- no more. I can’t take it. Please.”

Harry looked at you a moment, saw that true pain on your face, then nodded again. He was gentler as he removed it, placing it on the floor beside him. You felt everything that the vibrator had previously staunched leak out, soaking you even more.

Harry leaned up to kiss away the tears that fell. “I’m proud of you, princess. You did amazing.” He helped you sit up, then patiently brought you to stand. You leaned against him, letting him gather the rest of the items and change as you prepared for the long walk back to the castle.

He finished up, letting you lean into his side and helping you limp your way back to the dorms. He sent you to wash off as he grabbed food from the kitchens. And then, you met him on the couch, snacking lightly and drinking as much water as he instructed you to. He took painstaking care of you for the rest of the day and into the night, letting you sleep on his shoulder while students trickled in, starting the party early.

He whispered kisses onto your forehead, rubbing your arm soothingly. “You did so well,” he repeated over and over. He told you he loved you and praised how good you were. “You made daddy so proud.”

You could only mumble barely-there responses, eyes not staying open for long. You were more than content—pleased that you gave him an outlet, and even more pleased at that blissful exhaustion.


	4. Interruptions || D.M. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: If you vibe with it ofc, I’d love to see an exhibitionist!draco x praise kink!reader where Pansy walks in on them and they keep going (your f/f stuff in the last chapter was also brilliant so would love to see that get included with pansy x reader here if that works)
> 
> Summary: You and Draco had spent too much time apart recently, and when you finally do get together, you have no plans on stopping - not even when a new addition interrupts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 6.1k
> 
> Warnings: smut, threesome, oral (female recieving), exhibitionism, overstimulation, bdsm
> 
> a/n: slightly deviated i suppose, but i think it's pretty aligning. im also editing while half asleep so forgive me for errors that ill find tomorrow

He was waiting for you the minute you had gotten back to his prefect dorm. Draco seemed utterly at ease, but the energy in the room was palpable; the outcome undeniable.

It took a few seconds of staring, taking off your robes and shoes, and placing your bags down for the message to cement between you. The two of you rarely could spend time together—rarely could spend the amount of time you usually would on certain activities. Everything had been so quick, not as enjoyable as it usually was.

He grinned deviously, and your feet seemed to move of their own accord, bringing you to the foot of the bed and beginning the venture onto it. His head was at the pillows, long legs stretched out so you could glide against them as you crawled to straddle him, delighted to see that he was already rousing.

Draco leaned up, silver meeting your eyes, then threading his fingers through your hair. You bent down towards him, letting your lips resume their practiced positions. His hands slid, wrapping entirely around your back and waist, bringing you flush against him. The only obstacles at this point were thin scraps of fabric. And even that was too much.

He caught a grip at the back of your neck, thumb brushing a spot behind your ear that had a breathy moan slipping out. Excitement pooled somewhere low, and you just barely ground against him, smirking at the resulting groan.

His mouth was a constant pressure on yours, and you sighed, giving him another teasing rock. He acted soft and gentle, yet the first nip of his teeth on your bottom lip said otherwise. And before you could think, Draco bent his knees—bracing himself to efficiently flip your entangled bodies over, and you hooked your legs around his hips to keep him so very close.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, hands roving up and down your sides. “You’re too busy all the time. I don’t like it.” He reached the hem of your shirt, one hand slipping under, the other staying on your side to keep you in place.

You gasped, choosing his platinum locks to serve as salvation as you scratched lightly on his scalp, tugging a little. “Says the prefect.”

He growled at the sarcasm, taking another nip at your lip, letting his tongue slide across the seam. _Open_ , it said.

You obliged, parting fully to give him that access. He took a taste, savoring it as his fingers drew patterns on your bare skin—chuckling as the goosebumps erupted. You tightened your thighs in response, touching the tip of your tongue to his, then retreating.

Another growl as you started a chase.

His hands let go, and you whined at the lost contact, until they found two places on your face. His thumbs were parenthesis around your lips, locking you in and keeping everything condensed between teeth and tongue and movements that were getting increasingly rougher.

You felt his lips tilting upward as you gave in, pulling him harder against you. Your tongue took the responsibility of taste, flavor, promises. He groaned your name this time, and you thought you might die to hear that sound again.

“I missed you, too,” you whispered, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He rolled his hips, and you bit his lip. “Don’t be a tease.”

“And what is it that I’m teasing about?”

“Draco.”

His laugh was deeper this time, genuine humor, and it almost made you giggle. A grin planted itself on both your faces for a moment, but fell as his lips moved, twisting your head to the side to give him access to your jaw and throat.

“I missed you. I missed all of you. I missed your smiles.” His thumb traced your lips, pushing in to let you suck on it, then pulling your bottom lip down. His mouth met your jaw as he charted his first course of the night. “I missed your eyes''—your lids fluttered shut at that, relishing his ministrations, and the finger that ghosted along the area—“I missed your nose”—he traced the curve of it—“I missed your ears”—that earned another giggle from you, but it slipped into a gasping moan as he found the most sensitive part behind your earlobe, sucking on it, then brushing it with his tongue.

And he didn’t intend on stopping.

“I missed your chin.”

He found a grip there, keeping you from turning your face back to him.

“I missed your jaw.”

He took his time with that one, spreading kiss after kiss along it, tracing up to the junction.

“I missed your throat.”

He pressed open-mouth kisses down the side, making you shudder at the sensation. He marked every single inch.

“I missed your heartbeat.”

Those lips found your pulse point, racing as he focused on it. Your skin felt hot and cold and you only wanted him closer than physically possible.

“I missed-”

“I can’t wait,” you interrupted him. “Please don’t make me wait, Draco.” It came out a subtle whine, which you tried to distract from as you tugged on his hair. He released that vice on your chin, letting you meet his lips again.

From there, it only continued. He kissed his way along your body, like if he didn’t do it now, he may simply forget the feel of it. His hands didn’t hesitate to pull up your shirt, ridding it from your body, your skirt following.

You were almost ashamed of the basic bra and plain panties you had worn that day. He deserved better than average. And your cheeks would barely have time to heat, because Draco had made his way down, attaching his mouth to your cunt before you could even think.

It was hot and wet and you whimpered because you still had thin fabric holding a barrier. But he didn’t seem to mind; he ghosted fingers and lips and broad licks of his tongue that made you shiver and moan. It was euphoria, paradise, something that was blissful enough that you couldn’t even pinpoint when the door opened.

“Hey, Draco, do you-”

Pansy’s voice made both of you freeze, and she only stared at you from her place in the doorway. He was still poised over your core, still letting his breaths hit it gently. Pansy watched, mouth parted, and hearts stuttered and collapsed as you awaited her reaction.

But before you could get it, Draco’s fingers slid under your waistband, snapping it against your skin. It resounded—a small whimper left your mouth. Your hips bucked involuntarily.

Pansy’s jaw dropped. Then, she picked it right back up, pairing it with a carved smile.

“Having fun, are we?” she drawled, taking a few steps in and shutting the door behind her. She took a spot in the armchair by the fire, lounging as if she didn’t catch you in the most compromising of positions.

Draco smiled, and you felt yourself relax a little. “Yes, Pans, we…” he paused, returning that grasp on your panties, “...we are having an amazing time.” And then he was sliding them down, only moving from his spot between your thighs so he could fully remove them.

“Well don’t stop for me,” she waved her hand, and you saw the hunger in her eyes. It made something throb, your hips wriggle, your teeth bite into your lip. You liked the idea of being watched, of someone else feasting on the scene the same way Draco had paused at feasting on you.

You imagined the two of you looked rather beautiful in that way.

No, not beautiful. _Obsessive_.

And Draco felt the same, as he finally spared a lick through your folds, letting your gasp reverberate. He did it again, and you bit into your lip harder. Again, and he paused on your clit, using the flat of his tongue to massage it, rubbing sensual circles.

“Don’t be quiet,” Pansy cut in. “Show him how you’re feeling”—she focused her gaze on Draco—“ _make her_ make noise.”

He grinned again, and your thighs closed around his head. You had seen that smile enough times—known the stimulation that would come with it. And without failure, his tongue resumed its ministrations. The circles continued, and the tip dipped down, digging between your folds.

You cried at the feeling, the now-disheveled bed sheets fisted in your hands as he moved to take another lick up. He stopped at your clit again, but instead of his tongue, his lips found it. He sucked the knot into his mouth, and you could feel Pansy’s satisfaction as you moaned so loudly that you completely forgot there was no Silencing Charm.

Draco’s hands were rubbing up and down your sides, but trailed down to under your ass, groping, then continuing to the backs of your thighs. He squeezed them, suckling strongly enough that you started writhing, and he wrapped an arm around each thigh. He adjusted them so your knees were bent over each of his shoulders.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you groaned. His tongue had moved to your entrance, testing it out, and his nose brushed your clit as he thrusted in and out.

“I want her to cum, Draco. I want her to cum once on your tongue, twice on your fingers, and once more on your cock. Take your time.” Pansy’s orders only seemed to edge him on, and his lips closed your clit, making you see stars.

“Draco... _Draco_ ,” you were whining. His tongue entered you again, fucking you as far as it could reach, fingertips pressing into your thighs as you tried to close them.

“Let go, Y/N,” Pansy hissed. “Let go of your brain for one fucking second. Let him treat you well.”

Your eyes fell onto her, and you could see her playing with her own self—the sight had you bucking again. You were close, and as Draco sped up, alternating between sucking and licking and fucking, you did what you were told. You let go.

You cried his name as you came, fighting in his grip while he kept going. Pansy let go of her own moan as Draco moved, your body trembling as she was given an open sight. It took a single glance, and her head lifted up, fingers moving rapidly against her clit.

“Not too fast, Pans,” Draco chided, smiling as he licked a bit of your cum off his chin. When she didn’t listen, he stood from the bed, walking toward her chair and gripping her jaw. “I don’t want you getting off before us.”

She smirked lazily, but looked reluctant as she drew her hand away. This time, she turned the chair, giving all three of you clear views. Pansy spread her legs, and you could see her bare cunt under her skirt, glistening as arousal dripped from her own efforts.

Draco didn’t bother with another look, eyes locked on your sweaty and flushed body. He braced himself on top of you, crushing your lips together while his hand trailed down. There was no teasing as he ghosted on your clit, only pausing to wrap one of your legs around his waist, giving him access and Pansy an unobstructed shot.

“Where shall I start?” he asked, waiting for instruction. He drew those long fingers up and down, and you tightened at the sensitivity.

“Fuck her. With your fingers.” There was a break for a gasp, emitting from both you and Pansy as Draco entered a finger into your hole, already stretched and prepared. “Don’t let her cum yet, though. Make her wait.”

You whined at the prospect, because you knew just how patient Draco could be. He rocked that finger in and out of you slowly—torturously. He didn’t curl it, didn’t seek out any spots that would usually make you scream for him. He was taking his time.

You managed to look over his shoulder to see Pansy copying Draco’s actions on herself, eyes glazed over. You smiled a little, rethreading your hands through his hair to bring his lips down to yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only made you pull him closer, that finger still making you wriggle from the pace.

Your teeth caught on his lip as he curled it, hitting that ribbed spot, then scraping against it. “ _There_ …” you whimpered, trying to grind your hips against his hand to get more of that feeling. “ _Go back_.”

He chuckled, and an ember lit your insides. A contained heat warming you up. Draco moved down to your throat, peppering chaste kisses all over it. He trailed down to your breasts, kissing every inch that wasn’t covered by your bra.

He paused his finger, murmuring, “Off. Take this shit off.”

You quickly obliged, contorting your arms to get underneath your torso and release the clasp. Draco smiled at your struggle, and you bristled in response.

Well, you were bristling in response. Until he pulled his finger out and thrusted it back in like an arrow, your g-spot the bullseye. You took a tight grip on his hair, needing him to shoot another arrow because of how precise it was.

Finally, you threw the bra somewhere without looking, vaguely remembering that Pansy was still watching, embracing her own small sighs and moans from the show. You arched your back, trying to bask in her attention as much as you could. Draco smiled, having a similar idea, and began his next mission.

“Be loud, darling,” he breathed, pressing the words into your skin. You almost looked down at him, then his lips latched around your right nipple, and you couldn’t but arch up. You bit your lip to try and contain yourself, but he only grazed with his teeth. A reprimand.

And this time, when he began tracing the peak with his tongue, you let go of your moan, which only increased in fervor as Draco started pumping his finger, and that small ember ignited to a fire, making you flush and burn.

He started working you, tending to fire, throwing in all the kindling needed as he pushed in another finger, curling both during every thrust in. You were a mess by then, crying out from the stimulation paired with the gradual swelling of your nipple, his teeth and tongue the culprit.

You could hear Pansy using her own fingers, but you knew it was nothing compared to _this_ . You almost felt bad. Your eyes were shut, and you fully let go, not bothering with a _Silencio_ to hide it from the other students. Maybe they would enjoy it too.

When Draco finally deemed your right nipple sensitive enough, he moved to your left. He gave it the same, if not better treatment. His thumb found your clit, and he stoked that fire, making your buck slightly. And right when you felt that orgasm coming, moans coming out loose and uncontained, his fingers slowed once more. They slid out partially, returning to that rocking motion he had started you with.

You felt some amount of tears pool, desperation grabbing you by the throat. He gave one more lick, dragging the flat of his tongue over the peak, before meeting your mouth.

“You look so perfect, darling. You sound so perfect. Do you want a taste?” You could barely function, sensory heightened as you were left hanging on the very edge. Draco didn’t wait, deigning to remove those two fingers, holding them up to your mouth. “Taste it. It’s like a drug.”

You felt those tears fall. “Go back...please….”

“Taste it,” Pansy’s voice snapped. A sharp command. “Taste how good you are.”

You listened, leaning up to take those fingers into your mouth. You circled the pads of his fingers with your tongue, a pitiful attempt to tease him into going back where you wanted him. But he only pushed those fingers in to the knuckle, reaching the back of your throat.

You blinked up at him, and he smiled. “You look so pretty with my fingers in your mouth,” he said. “So beautiful like this.”

You imagined your mascara had to be running, the tears and sweat only making it worse. Your hair was without a doubt a mess, mussed and damp strands against your forehead. You didn’t have to look to know everything from your throat down was covered with love bites, courtesy of Draco and Draco only.

Pansy appeared to want a gander as well, and she walked up beside the bed, staring down at your figure. She smirked, brushing some hair back from your face. “You want to cum again?”

You nodded, begging her with your eyes, because your mouth was occupied with Draco’s fingers, which you licked and lined with your tongue.

“Do you deserve it?”

You nodded again, more tears falling, that fire still very much alive in your veins.

“I’ll think about it. Go back, Draco, but don’t give it to her yet.” Her tone was crisp, clear, like she wasn’t ordering him to wring you of everything possible.

He began trailing his fingers down, making invisible doodles on your sensitive skin. He reached your clit, then tracing all your folds, rubbing circles on the spots that made you shudder the most. His thumb pushed into your entrance, but it didn’t stay, simply gathering the arousal and bringing it back to your swollen knot. He started those massages again, speeding up as you wriggled against him. You were too sensitive.

But Draco didn’t seem to care. And when his thumb left, two fingers took its place, giving him the ability to go faster. The actions sent electricity through to your heart, almost painful as he took up a relentless pace. You registered more tears rising from the overstimulation, and that only made him smile, not giving up.

You felt those flames ignite into a wildfire, coursing through you with no thoughts of stopping. His fingers lifted, choosing your entrance as their next destination. They pumped quickly, tilted so he hit your g-spot every time. A tremor started in one of your legs, making it shake uncontrollably. He twisted those fingers inside of you, almost like asking for good luck, then immediately finding a new spot that had you screaming.

His thumb pushed on your clit, and that orgasm built back up, your body so close to reaching it. Until once more, it stopped.

“ _No...no…._ ” you were whimpering, trying to get friction from his body still hovering over yours. You felt his hardened length through his trousers, and Pansy was the one who hissed.

She pushed you back down, slapping your cunt harshly. You whined at the experience, feeling only pleasure from the pain. “Don’t be a brat,” she threatened. “Or I’ll make you wait.”

You sobered, but nodded, focusing on your breathing. Draco leaned down, kissing those tears away.

“Alright, darling?” he asked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shook your head, your body still alight. “‘m fine. Please let me cum. I’ve been good,” you were mumbling against his lips, pleading with him.

“Just wait a little longer. I know you can do it.”

You nearly burst into tears again, and when you tried to tighten your leg around Draco’s hip to keep yourself open, you could barely move it. He pushed it down, deciding that repositioning was in order. 

He shifted slowly, sitting you up and moving to be behind you, your back against his chest, legs still spread. Pansy rested in the armchair, watching the two of you closely. Draco found a spot in your neck, which you bared, as his hands slid back down, ghosting along your heat. 

“You remember the safeword?” he murmured against your throat, fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Yes,” you replied, closing your eyes. “Please.”

He smiled proudly, pressing a sweet kiss to your jaw. You hissed as his fingers entered, moving slowly, soothingly. He used his free hand to bend one of your legs at the knee, drawing it up and inclining the other to do the same. It exposed countless new nerves, new angles, and your now half-lidded eyes caught on Pansy, still playing with her clit as she observed.

It didn’t take long for Draco to find a new spot that made your vision spotty. He felt you relax around him, muscles going loose while your hips rocked against his hand. The orgasm built much quicker this time, and you couldn’t help your body arching.

He sped those fingers up, pushing a third one in—barely a stretch anymore. And then he was fucking you, rough and fast and hitting a bundle of nerves that had you pushing back against him, right into his hard erection.

He hissed, and his thumb finding your clit seemed to be the punishment. You were crying out, swollen and slick and his hand only quickened, harder, more precise to have your entire body near-convulsing.

And yet again, you found yourself on that edge, bucking against him and hands scrabbling for purchase on his knees that caged you on either side. You screamed as he hit a new spot, wildfire growing and growing. 

And yet again, it stopped.

“Please... _please_ , Pansy….” you turned your attention to the other girl, who was staring just as intently at your dripping and now-empty entrance. You were sobbing, sounds getting fuzzy and twisted, mind set on one goal.

She licked her lips, then nodded. You felt some sort of breath leave you, leaning back into Draco and pressing a kiss under his jaw. But before you could savor it, Pansy continued. “You still have two more orgasms after this one. But I think you’ve been a good enough girl for this.”

You tensed, preparing yourself, and Draco was already moving along the insides of your thighs. “Keep count for me, will you, darling? Tell me what number we’re at right now.”

“O-One,” you stuttered. “Almost to two.”

“Good girl.” 

And then only two fingers were inside of you, thumb already on your clit. He moved just as fast, finding nerves and exposing them all. His fingers formed a ‘come-hither’ motion inside of you, hitting your brutally swollen g-spot every time, while he rubbed circles on your knot.

You closed your eyes, feeling pain and pleasure battle inside of your body. And Draco only pushed you further, locating every spot that made you cry out and drawing as much of the pleasure portion as possible.

You turned into an inferno, struggling to keep your knees up, but knowing punishment would come if you didn’t. You were seeing neon colors, bright and flashing and then covered with white dots as you screamed again, his fingers finding new territory.

“ _Almost_ ,” you whimpered, hoping he would get the message that he was in the most perfect of spots.

And he did receive it, somehow pumping in and out quicker and curling every time, arrows hitting nerves with that impeccable precision. His thumb didn’t give up either, massaging your clit until you were shaking, that climax bringing you to a new dimension.

He hit that bundle perfectly with two fingers, thumb soothing an itch on the outside, and you screamed again as you came, shaking and falling apart around him. Senses were construed, nothing quite making sense as he slowed his ministrations, helping you to gently ride out that wave.

You opened your eyes eventually, but it was all black dots, those loud colors still flying around like far-off airplanes. Pansy was watching you, her own fingers speeding up as she played with herself, but Draco’s voice interrupted.

“Not yet, Pans. There are rules in place for you too.” You soaked in his warm voice on the shell of your ear, pressing another kiss to his jaw—sucking a little to make a mark of your own.

Pansy glared, removing her hand, but you could see the amusement swimming in her blown pupils. “What number?” she asked you, switching her victim.

“I can’t take anymore-” you whispered, voice a little raw. “I can’t-”

“What number?”

Draco pulled you closer against him, and you felt his length press against your back. “Come on, darling. You’re doing amazing.”

You swallowed, then answered, “Two.”

Pansy nodded in approval, but didn’t rush you to the next one. You composed yourself for a handful of minutes, waiting for your breathing to regulate, vision coming back. Draco only scratched up and down your sides, calming and bringing you back down to earth.

You sighed for a moment, taking the temporary peace and waiting for your legs to stop shaking quite so much. And after long enough for you to feel capable of movement again, you shifted, turning in Draco’s lap. He was still fully clothed, and you didn’t enjoy that.

You finished the second half of buttons you had been distracted from earlier, getting his shirt off and exposing the expanses of pale and addicting skin.

 _Obsessive_.

You pressed your lips to his collarbone, straddling his waist and you kissed down it. And when you finished with that one, you moved to the other, pushing him down and resuming your initial position of the night.

You traced his chest entirely, licking and sucking until he could be just as covered as you. You found muscles and tendons and his racing heart and you made sure each had your signature on it. Red and purple and popping blood vessels that marked him as yours.

Then you kissed along his abs, toned from so much Quidditch practice, and you scooted down so you were sitting on his erection, grinding on it slowly.

He growled, hands reaching for you, but Pansy cut through the air.

“Don’t touch her. It’s her turn to have fun.”

You smiled at the order, rotating against the fabric for a taste of his own medicine. Then, you lifted up, sliding under his waistband to slide his trousers and boxer briefs down in one go. His erection slapped up against his stomach, red and leaking precum. 

You took him into your hand, running your thumb over the head as you started to pump him. He tried to sit up, but Pansy clicked her tongue. A warning.

You grinned.

“Ride him,” she ordered. “Facing me. His hands are allowed on your waist, but don’t get lazy. I can add another one to the list.”

You nodded, shakily positioning yourself with a knee on either side of him. Your muscles were sore as you hovered over him, and you nearly fell as you tried to align him with your entrance, one hand not sufficient enough to keep you balanced. His hands held you in place, though, thumbs pressing into the dimples of your back, and you managed to get poised over him.

And before you could think, he was sheathing himself inside you, pulling you down. You winced at first, the stretch and pain from overstimulation lingering, but then you started to bounce, distracting yourself with how good it felt.

Pansy was watching you, maintaining eye contact as your mouth parted, his fingers nothing compared to the way his cock filled you. You tried to keep moving, but your body was tired, weak, and Draco ended up being the sole force behind each thrust.

You rolled your hips in an attempt at helping, but it was unsteady—especially as he hit your g-spot every time, already swollen and pronounced. Both of your moans filled the air, slapping skin the melody to that harmony, and you swore the grip his hands had would leave bruises.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open, toes curling as he hit all sorts of nerves, and you tried to rock with him, hips moving in tandem. He groaned as you slowly became more in line, and Draco could only watch his cock slip in and out of your folds every time you bounced.

Your hands grabbed your heels, arching so he brushed your g-spot over and over and over. Tears rose from the sensitivity, but you didn’t stop, only thinking of the image you must make, riding him as Pansy watched, eyes tracking over every inch of you.

Draco’s groans turned faltering, his hands almost sloppy as you brought him deeper and deeper. He started to pull you down rougher, reaching an even greater penetration, and after enough time, you heard the sounds that signaled his own release.

You felt yours approaching as well, but you didn’t think you could do it. Your muscles were still spasming from before, shaking and leaving you woozy. But before you could reconsider everything, you felt a thumb on your clit.

Not Draco’s—Pansy’s.

She stared at you, working harsh circles onto the exposed and much-too-stimulated organ. You forced your eyes open to watch her, moans and cries tumbling dangerously, and she angled her hand to find hidden nerves—ones that were happy to get the attention.

You couldn’t hold yourself up, Draco being given the responsibility of both your pleasure. Pansy kept rubbing you, and her other hand found the spot on your lower stomach where Draco’s length pushed the skin out. She applied pressure there, and Draco let go of a resounding “ _Fuck_ ” followed by both of your names, before emptying into you.

Pansy kept going, and you broke over your own orgasm, crying as you did so. When she stopped, you slowly lifted yourself off of him, nearly collapsing in the space beside him. Draco pushed up onto his forearms, watching you as you shook, entirely uncontained.

He sat up, flushed and alive, and running his hands up and down your back, your body curled up in a fetal position. “What number, darling?”

“ _No_ …” There was too much pain, every inch of you flayed open and raw. “ _Too much_ …”

“It’s alright, you’re almost done. Tell us what number.”

You buried yourself further in the covers, trying to protect your body. “We should be done. Your tongue, fingers, and cock. That was it.”

Pansy brushed a bit of hair behind your ears. “Number.”

“T-three.”

“And do you remember how many times I said you were going to cum?”

“You—You said tongue-”

Pansy laughed, and Draco got up to make room for her on the center of the bed. She laid out, legs bent and spread for you. “Until you remember, I want you to eat me out. Or maybe Draco can jog your memory.”

Your lip quivered, but you nodded all the same, crawling forward. You didn’t bother with getting rid of her skirt, choosing to let it cover your head while you went to work. You were still trembling, hands shaking as they pushed her thighs apart fully.

You bit that lip, unsure, then decided to do as best you could. You started at the folds, dragging up and down them, trying to find all the mirror spots that drove you crazy. And she gasped as you targeted them, and something about the sound empowered you—made you want more.

You massaged some with the tip, then closed your lips around her clit, suckling it into your mouth. Her hips bucked and you pushed her back down, keeping her in place while you all but destroyed her. The skirt pushed up, exposing you to the dim light of the room, and you met Pansy’s eyes as you placed your lips around her cunt, suctioning as your tongue licked and lapped at everything possible.

You found her entrance, probed it a bit curiously, then followed Draco’s example as you pushed your tongue in. She clenched her thighs around your head, burying you in what laid in between, and you started fucking her with your tongue, thrusting in and out until you felt her own legs shake.

With your knees bent underneath you, back arched, you gave Draco the perfect access to slide two fingers in you. You moaned a bit, making vibrations travel through Pansy, but then the pain got to you, tears having no qualms at tracking down your face.

“If you cum before me,” Pansy gasped out when you paused your actions, “I will add two more orgasms to the list.”

That made your heart stutter, and you refocused on your goal, working hot, open-mouth kisses all over her. It was sloppy in all the accurate spots, but as Draco’s fingers curled inside you, a sob broke past your lips.

“Twice on his fingers,” she said. “That was the order. You only came once-”

She cut off with a moan as you entered your own fingers into her, pumping them as your lips focused on her clit. Your mind was half-distracted by Draco, who was harshly fucking you with those fingers, moving in and out and using the tilt of your body to his advantage.

You were desperate to get Pansy off, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anymore. You had reached your breaking point a long time ago, and now you were a crying and screaming mess as Draco sped up.

You did the same, curling your fingers and recognizing which spots did what. You matched smaller, repeated hits to her g-spot with long licks up her cunt, savoring the slight tang of it. Your climax rose yet again, and you brought your lips over her, sucking dangerously as Draco took up his ruthless pace, adding a third finger when you tried to get away.

You were almost entirely numb, not feeling anything but shocks and fire stoke around, burning you and urging you to go further. You felt Pansy start to break, walls clenching on your fingers, and you lightly bit on her clit, knowing just how much she loved the pain.

She cried loudly as she came, and you only licked and licked until you had every drop of her in your mouth. She bucked for a minute, then started to calm, a few tremors in her knees, but nothing compared to you. You didn’t expect to be able to walk after tonight.

And true to her word, Pansy made sure you came. She was breathing heavy, sweating, but adjusted herself to reach your clit, rubbing it quickly and making you cry out. 

The mixture had that orgasm coming into startling view, and it felt like the biggest one, your body giving a final push to release. You fell apart, muffling the cry into the sheets as Draco kept going as you came, uncaring until he forced one more climax out of you, this one weak, but still making your muscles and bones give out. You collapsed unceremoniously onto the bed, sighing as both Draco’s and Pansy’s hands left your body.

You couldn’t move. Not for a few moments. Your muscles were cramped, twitching, and you had to work hard to curl back up. Everything was numb, raw, exhausted. You heard retreating steps, the door open and closing, then a different door—this one to the bathroom. There was running water, but your ears were too stuffed with cotton to truly acknowledge it.

“Hey, darling,” Draco murmured, rubbing your arm gently.

“No more,” you whimpered. “I can’t take any more.” You opened your eyes to see a warm washcloth in his hand, and you relaxed slightly.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, still soothing. “You did incredible. I’m so proud of you. Pansy’s proud too.”

You made another soft sound, trying to push yourself over to him, ready for the aftercare. “Is she gone?”

Draco helped lift you towards him, tapping his wand against the bed and changing the sheets. You smiled against the clean fabric, nuzzling under his arm as he stretched you out. “Yeah, she left. Would you like her to come back one day?”

You nodded drowsily, opening your legs so he could clean you up. He wiped up all sorts of fluids and grime, and then carefully massaged your muscles, helping you work out the tremors as best as you could. “Was fun,” you murmured, holding onto him as he used a new cloth for your face, getting rid of all the smeared makeup and sweat.

When he finished, he helped you move under the covers, then slipping in beside you. He tapped his wand once more, and a small tray of food and water appeared. “Drink and eat, darling. Your body needs it.”

“Need to use the bathroom...shower….” But you were already falling asleep, Draco’s steady breaths in your ear and the low lighting rocking you into unconsciousness.

“One thing at a time,” he responded, wrapping that arm tighter around you. “Eat, shower, then sleep.”

You nodded again, not capable of planning like he was. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, darling.”


	5. Training || F.W. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: CAN U PLEASE WRITE MOMMY KINK WITH FRED THANK YOU YOU ARE ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS EVER
> 
> Summary: After ruining your essay, you decide that a certain redhead needs proper punishment. Training, if you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 4.5k
> 
> Warnings: mdlb (aka mommy kink), breeding, orgasm denial, oral (female and male receiving), edging, sub!fred, dom!reader, puppy kink but only in the breeding aspect/not pet play, overstim, cockwarming, me suddenly realizing there’s a lot, slight exhibitionism but it’s not the point, degradation, restraints, grinding
> 
> a/n: this was so bad. i can’t write dom!reader unless it’s in an imagine/headcanon format

You huffed out in stress, the words on the parchment in front of you making little sense. Words _you_ wrote.

Snape had been nothing short of insufferable lately, every assignment only serving to make you wish to wring his slimy neck. This essay was no different. Honestly, you didn’t have the time to be writing about....you looked back up to the textbook, unaware of what you were trying to accomplish.

Anti-paralysis potions. It meant absolutely nothing to you.

“Darlinggg,” Fred singsonged the name, staring at you from across your dorm. He had been trying to snag your attention for the past 45 minutes, lying in a starfish position on the bed. “I’m bored.”

“I know, Freddie. You have made that abundantly clear.” You rolled your eyes as you refocused, making yourself memorize every ingredient of the pink potion. You retained none of it.

“Pleaseeee,” he whined, and you heard him repositioning on the bed. “You’ve been working for so long.”

His pestering only fueled your frustration. You had probably heard the same words out of his mouth twenty times already. “Don’t be a brat, Freddie. I don’t have time to deal with you.”

He went silent. You were convinced he must’ve fallen asleep, no response or plea greeting your ears for a few minutes. And right as you started a new sentence, quill dragging across the parchment in the form of a ‘T’, something hit your head.

Your hand went askew, ink crossing up and into every previous line you wrote. Demolished hours of work. It bled through the paper, confuddling thoughts and answers. You looked down to see a crumpled piece of paper on the floor, a ball that had hit you square in the head.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Fred Weasley?” You turned a vicious glare on him, hands shaking as you realized you would have to stay up and rewrite over a foot of essay.

“I’m bore-” He cut off, eyes wide as he caught a glimpse of your botched work. “I’m sorry”—he stood quickly, holding his hands up in surrender—“it was an accident, I swear.”

You shoved up from your desk, raising your wand threateningly. _Hours_ , it would take. “Do you know what you’ve fucking done? This is due tomorrow, and now I have to sit here and fix it.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.” He backed away as you stalked towards him, and he was met with a wall.

You continued, shoving him hard against the stone as you shot a hand towards his throat, squeezing. “Can you really not control yourself? You insolent puppy,” you spat.

“Please, it was an accident. I’ll write it for you—please don’t be mad.”

“Snape will know. Do you understand what your begging has done?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” His lip quivered, and you tightened your fingers.

Fred was so infuriating sometimes, an absolute terror when he was idle. “I don’t think you do. I think you need to be punished. Is that what my pet needs? To be punished like a puppy, not trained enough to take care of himself?”

“N-no, ma’am. I don’t need punishment. I’ll stay up with you—I’ll be better.”

He was almost a foot taller than you, but you brought him down to nothing with your words. You pushed him back as you removed your hand, twisting to point at the chair you previously occupied at the desk. “Sit.”

Fred grinned, some level of anticipation lighting in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that. You know better, puppy.” You waited until he had sat down before following. There was already a new piece of parchment out, quill and ink waiting.

“Yes, Mommy.” He bit his lip, and you narrowed your eyes.

“Get yourself ready for me—I don’t have the time to wait,” you snapped. You let go of a breath as he pulled down his trousers and pumped, his length already half-hard and excited. You didn’t bother with yourself, simply grabbing a bottle of lube from the drawer and holding it out to him. 

His mouth fell open when he realized what was happening. The punishment you would give him. “Mommy, please. I don’t need to be punished. Let me make you feel good.” He reached for you, starting to get up. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

“Sit down. You deserve this. You’re going to sit there and fill me up while I rewrite the work _you_ destroyed. You ought to be smarter next time.”

“But-”

“Shut your mouth. You need to be trained properly.” And with that, you lifted up your skirt, pulling your panties to the side, and poised yourself over his lap. You faced the desk, your back to his chest, and sunk down onto his length.

Fred cried out, muffling it with your spine, the vibrations sending a shock through each vertebra. “Feel so good,” he murmured, thrusting his hips up. He snaked one hand around your waist, feeling for your clit. “Let me make you happy, Mommy.”

You slapped his hand away, then pinched the outside of his thigh. “Don’t move, puppy. You’re not allowed to cum, so don’t even think of trying.”

“Please. You’re so warm and tight—let me fill you up with my babies. You’d look so pretty pregnant.” He was still rocking his hips, hoping for friction, and you only responded with sharp pinches.

“Be good,” was your only response. You drew the next piece of paper, starting from the beginning. You mumbled out the words as you went, teasing as you tilted forward and back, judging and pondering.

“What do you think this word is?” you asked, leaning back after a few minutes. He brushed up against your g-spot, but you held in the gasp. You brought the paper beside your head, letting him read. It was completely blotted, the letters almost indiscernible.

“I-I think it’s—it’s….” You started rolling your hips, and Fred stuttered violently, groaning and failing to get a sentence out.

“Answer my question, puppy. I don’t take you for an idiot. Tell me what it says.” You shook the parchment, simultaneously lifting your hips an inch and falling back down.

“Please, Mommy.” You felt his torse trembling against your back, hips desperately rocking into you. “I can’t-”

“Answer the fucking question. What word is it?”

“Mommy, please.” A small sob left his lips, trying to push up into you. You only pinched him again.

“You don’t get anything at all if you don’t answer my question.” You were harsh with the words, and Fred buried his face in your upper back, cock still very deep inside you.

“I can’t,” he cried out. “Let me cum...fill you up so well….I’ll be so good for you, Mommy….please….” They were breathless sounds, gasps every time he got a bit of friction.

You shook your head, ignoring him as you turned back to your essay. “You need to be trained.”

And you ignored him for the next few hours, transcribing every word you could make out, asking him occasionally what he thought certain letters were. But Fred was no help, only a blubbering mess as you warmed his cock till the late hours.

At one point, George knocked on the door to your dorm, looking at you quizzically. You pulled your skirt down to cover up, making the scene much more innocent; like you were just sitting on your boyfriend’s lap.

“Alright, Freddie?” George asked, but the smirk on his face said he already knew.

Fred nodded. “‘M fine.”

“And you?” the other twin shifted his focus to your concentrated self.

You grinned. “Fantastic. Did you do the homework for McGonagall, by any chance?”

George laughed. “You’re hilarious. Truly.”

And you engaged in conversation for the next 15 minutes, not letting Fred so much as breathe properly. You gestured with your hands and body, and every twist and turn had him biting into your shoulder, holding in his moans.

George seemed amused, and he without a doubt knew the nature of your position. You reminded yourself to thank him later on, appreciating that extra inch of punishment for Fred. When he finally left, the remaining redhead started crying again.

“Please. It hurts, Mommy.” He whimpered loudly against you, groaning as you leaned into him.

“Just because you were a good puppy, I’ll give you a break. You did well, but your training isn’t over.” You yourself were getting sensitive, but before you pushed off of him, you grabbed his hand. “Make me cum, pup. With your fingers, not your cock—you’re not getting your turn for a while.”

“But-”

“No. Follow instructions.” And you led that hand to your clit, guiding him until Fred took control.

He drew figure-eights, the organ already swollen with some arousal and lube leaking from your entrance, letting him move smoothly. It didn’t take much, not really, and you were moaning as soon as he sped up, whispering into your ear, “Gonna make you feel so good, Mommy. Gonna make you so happy.”

“ _Yes_ ,” you gasped as he found a new pattern, hitting so many nerves.

Fred brought his other hand up, pressing on the bulge pushing your stomach out. “My cock is in so deep. I’ll breed you so well, Mommy….make you so full of my children….”

You couldn’t hold back any longer, shuddering around him as you came, hips rocking—but not enough—against his. “Yes, Freddie, make Mommy feel good.”

And he did, helping you ride out the climax. It wasn’t as big as normal, but the sheer power it held over him made both of you even more hungry. Some of the cum leaked out onto his trousers and under your thighs, dampening both.

You finished spasming, dotting your last sentence and then pushing yourself up and off of him. Your legs shook, and you used the table for support as you took a few steps back, giving Fred room to stand up.

His tip was bright red and angry, slick with precum, your juices, and lube. It was almost purple, so much blood rushing to it and his body needing release. His balls were stiffened, every inch of him giving away to desperation. “Can I cum, Mommy? Please?”

You shook your head, regaining composure and adjusting your skirt. “No. Go to sleep, it’s late. But if I find out you touched yourself at all, you’ll be punished even further. Understand, pup?”

“Yes, Mommy.” He was almost solemn, but you could see through to the enjoyment of being used.

You nodded for him to move, and Fred listened, tucking his painfully hard cock back into his pants. He winced slightly as the fabric ran over the head, and you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You did well, pup,” you murmured, then letting him go.

He walked out the door stiffly, and you grinned. You walked to the attached bathroom, cleaning yourself off before returning to your essay. In all honesty, you didn’t write anything of actual importance. It was a jumble of words that weren’t cohesive in the slightest, only half actually coming from your original paper.

You would blame it on the fog of Fred being buried inside of you, the delight from punishing him. You sighed, sitting back down and pulling out a fresh sheet, ready to actually get to work.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


“Did you follow my instruction?” you asked as you plopped down next to Fred the next afternoon, taking a bite of food off his plate.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, leaning against you. “Can I get my reward today?”

You could tell he was in pain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You snaked a hand up his thigh, brushing against his length. He flinched, and you giggled. “No, pup, I’m afraid not. Snape yelled at me for my messy work—says it looks like I was distracted. Surely that’s your fault, yeah?”

“Yes, but I apologized. You punished me.”

“Not done yet,” you tutted, before rising from the bench, sneaking a last forkful of food. You pressed a kiss to his lips, just like last night, murmuring, “I’ll see you later, puppy.”

You laughed at the groan that chased you on your way out.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


The next time you found him was right before dinner. He was walking by himself, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.

“Freddie?” you called out, the corridor empty at this point. You had taken your time to get to the Great Hall, and it seemed he had as well.

His shoulders released a bit of tension as he spun, greeting you with a grin, but you could see the desperation in his eyes. “Hi, darling.”

You trapezed over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking him up and down. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, but you could tell it was strained. “Yes. Just a bit of trouble,” he gestured to below his navel.

Understanding filled you. “You still want your reward?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mommy. It hurts so bad.”

“Poor baby. You need Mommy to take care of you?”

“Yes,” his lip quivered. “Please. I’ll even take care of you first.” He pulled you past a tapestry and into a hidden alcove. Your back met a wall, and he kneeled before you, pushing up your skirt.

You groaned, knees buckling as he tugged your panties down. You threaded your fingers through his hair, almost pushing him away, until his tongue met your folds. He used his hands to pin your hips to the wall, holding you up as he went down on you.

“You taste so good. I’ll make you feel amazing, Mommy.” His words reverberated through your core, making you grind your pussy against his face, getting off on the feeling.

“Yes, puppy. Make me cum—you’re such a good pet,” you praised him, breath disappearing as his lips closed around your clit, suckling like it was the sweetest of fruits.

You used his face as a toy, rubbing yourself against it. You could hear Fred moan at the actions, and held onto you harder, circling your entrance with his tongue. The cry was inescapable, and you pulled him closer as he licked up your arousal.

“ _Almost there, Freddie_.” You felt him smile, then he started to fuck you with his tongue, making you scream. “Just like that,” you breathed, “right there.”

As always, he was the perfect listener, pinpointing every spot and treating them right. You saw bright lights flash across your vision, floaters as he sucked on your hole. You nearly came undone, and then nearly became fully as he clamped his lips around your knot again, drawing circles with his tongue as he suckled.

You used a hand to muffle your mouth as you came. Hard.

Your legs trembled as you pushed him away, sliding down the wall so you were at the same height. Fred was covered in your juices, and he whined when he lost access, licking off what was left on his mouth and chin.

“Taste so amazing. Did you like that? Did I make it up to you?” He was begging, looking like he was starved for repayment.

You pulled your panties back up, fixing your outfit as you regathered yourself. You were flushed, sweaty, but that didn’t stop you from shoving him back onto his bum, legs out in front of him. You crawled until you faced him, straddling his lap and placing your cunt right over his crotch. “You want more, don’t you?” you whispered, tilting his chin up. “You want to lick me up until I’m dry, yeah? Clean me with your tongue like a fucking animal?”

Fred’s pupils blew, amazed. “So bad, Mommy. You’ll be spotless...nice and clean.”

You gyrated on top of him, making him jerk up, groaning. He had no self-control, chasing the release he had been denied for an entire day.

And you planned on making it longer.

You kept rocking, putting pressure on him as he got harder and harder. “Feel good, pup?” you asked, pushing your hips down at once.

He was already close to release, that much was obvious. “Yes….yes, so good. I’m almost there. Please.”

“You want to cum in your pants? Soil yourself for me? I can’t believe you’re getting off on some simple grinding. I’m not even touching you and you’re ready to cum.”

He nodded, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. He planted his hands behind him, bracing as he lifted up to meet your rolls. His breathing got heavy, and he whimpered loudly. “Almost. Please, please, I’m almost there.”

You felt his determination seep into the room, and you combed through his hair, flowing like water between your fingers. “Look at you,” you cooed. “My little puppy is all ready to cum for Momma. Wanna cum in his pants.”

Your clit was beyond overstimulated, and you could feel a second orgasm already approaching. That’s what had your hand slipping down, rubbing circles on the bud while you let his rough jeans take care of your cunt. It only took a few minutes of that, his begging and pleading only tightening the knot in your stomach, until you came again, dampening your clothes and his pants.

A sigh worked its way out of you, and you kept going, ignoring the pain. Fred started to wail, and you felt his cock twitch in his pants, signaling he was close.

And right when he was the edge, you lifted up and off of him. His hips bucked immediately, searching for that final shove, but there was nothing to be found. Only air.

“N-no. No, Mommy, please. I was right there.” He was crying, fingers trying to pull you back down, but you had none of it.

“I know, pup. But I need to train you better. You were just about to make a mess in your pants, cumming just from some innocent grinding. What’s everyone going to think if they saw how pathetic you are?”

You got back up to your feet, sending a quick cleaning spell to fix your soaked garments. Your knees were still shaking, but you paid it no mind, already walking out of the alcove.

Fred whimpered behind you. “Please, it hurts. I need to cum.”

“In due time, darling. Be a good boy for me.”

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


And that’s how it continued. You didn’t care about the essay anymore—you never really did—but watching Fred squirm was truly a sight.

You would pull him away, usually multiple times a day, and edge him until he was begging to finish. But you’d always walk away before he could get to that orgasm. You gave him rules and instructions, refusing to let him cum to even his own hand.

He was horribly sensitive, even the softest of underwear making him wince anytime it rubbed against him too quickly. He would be by your side all day, desperately trying to convince you to let him reach release.

You refused him every time, deigning to let him suffer until you were satisfied.

You met him in your prefect dorm on the fourth night, pushing him onto the bed and quickly pulling down his pants and underwear. You wanted to try something new tonight.

He was already hard, and you picked out a bluish tint on his balls. He cried out from the barest of touches along the slit, his discomfort apparent.

“Does it hurt, baby?” you crooned, dragging your thumb over him again.

“Yes, Momma. Really, really bad.” He almost sounded like a child, begging for something at a candy shop.

“And you want me to make it feel better, don’t you?” You kissed his inner thighs, leaving love bites as you made your way up.

His hips bucked, and his muscles tensed immediately. “Please. It hurts,” he repeated. You could already see the tears falling, lip quivering because this had to be the third time you teased him today.

“And you know why I’m training you, right, puppy? You know what you did wrong?”

“Yes, and I won’t do it again. I promise. Please let me cum.”

You hummed thoughtfully against his skin. “I’ll think about it.” You cast a nonverbal that tied his hands up to the headboard, lest he try to take control.

You kissed up his thighs, licking and sucking, teasing as he whined. You grazed with your teeth anytime he moved too much, but you kept a steady pace. Once to his hips, you bypassed the place he wanted you most, moving to his stomach.

You kept eye contact as you dragged your tongue up his abs, always present from so many hours on the pitch. He writhed, and you bit down on the tanned skin; a scolding. A threat. And when you finished having your fun on his torso, you traced down to his erection, hard and leaking against his stomach.

You spared kitten licks to the head, placing the flat of your tongue against him, then swirling. Fred groaned, sobbed. Begged. You closed your lips around him, still only taking the tip into your mouth. You sucked a bit, still dancing around with your tongue, then let go with a loud _pop_.

“You want more, baby?” You didn’t wait for a response, your next target the underside of his shaft. You took a long venture, bottom to top, then taking the head into your mouth once more.

“Yes, Mommy. You make me feel so good, don’t stop,” he whimpered, pulling his hands against the conjured restraints. The soreness was clearly there, and you knew Fred adored it.

You smiled, taking half of him into your mouth at once. You hollowed your cheeks, using your tongue as a paintbrush. You lined every one of the thick veins, grazed your teeth enough for him to howl in pain, then kept going.

Planting your hands on his hip bones, you took all of him, tears prickling while you focused on your breathing, ensuring you didn’t gag too much. Your nose brushed against the hairs of his stomach and pelvis as you deepthroated him, moaning to send vibrations through him.

He wriggled his hips, thrusting up into your mouth, and you let your teeth drag over him again. You started to bob up and down, slow and sensual at first, then in an instant, switching paces. You moved quickly, taking him over and over, your gag reflex getting accustomed to his size and girth.

Fred moaned loudly, chasing his orgasm after so long. And it only took a few minutes, accompanied by one hand fondling his swollen and heavy balls, for him to be twitching in your mouth.

“Gonna cum, Mommy. So close.” He didn’t realize his mistake.

You loosened your grip to let him freely fuck into your mouth and down your throat. But you only permitted two unaware thrusts, pulling off of him yet again.

“ _No_ ,” he sobbed, wailing as he aimed for some kind of friction. “P-please,” he cried, “I need it.”

“Not so soon, pup. You’ll get your orgasm when I want you to get your orgasm.” You pushed up to a sitting position, grinning at him from the foot of the bed. You wiped a bit of saliva-mixed-with-precum from your chin; gathered it on your fingers and opened your legs, showing your already wet cunt.

Fred groaned, lurching forward again. But you ignored him, taking those fingers and dragging them through your folds.

“Do you see how happy I am, Freddie? I just love to watch you beg.” You pushed a finger into your entrance, permitting those lewd noises as you pumped, Fred watching with barely concealed hunger. “Don’t you just wanna fill me up? Fuck me like a bitch in heat?”

Fred moved forward so quickly that you almost believed he’d dislocate a shoulder. “Please, Mommy. I’ll put all my babies in your—make you pregnant and glowing.”

You considered him for a few minutes, waiting for his climax to wane, before removing that finger, rubbing the juices all over your cunt. “You want me to ride you? To fuck myself on your cock?”

“Yes, so badly.” He moved his legs, indicating for you to come closer.

You grinned, crawling forward and straddling his hips, holding his length up and dragging it through your slit; up and down and up and down until Fred was thrusting up into your hand, needing to get inside.

One last smile, and you sunk down, moaning as he filled you so deeply. You got used to him inside of you, adjusted yourself, then began to bounce.

He hit you perfectly, reaching so far that it was almost painful. He thrust up into you, just as you rolled your hips every time you came down, making him groan. The sound turned you on even more, encouragement to drop down harder.

“Yes, Mommy. You feel so good...just wanna fuck you over and over…,” he moaned loudly. He seemed to be lost in a state of bliss, eyes foggy and distracted.

You continued for a few minutes, tilting to get the best angles possible. You met one that had him brushing against your g-spot repeatedly, and the world fell away as you reached a hand down to your clit, rubbing quick circles as Fred’s moans turned breathier, guttural.

He was getting close. You knew him well enough to recognize the signs.

“You’re my little fuck toy, aren’t you, pup? Something to get Momma off?” Your voice was half-raw, partially from those obscene noises and partially from taking him so deep in your throat.

“Yes,” he croaked, eyes shut as your walls clenched around him.

You only sped your fingers up, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm and letting one deep thrust finish you off. You tumbled over the edge, seeing white as you came on him. You rode it out, muscles spasming as you flushed red, absolutely demolished and stimulated.

He twitched one more time, and you pushed off of him, not giving him the same treatment. His eyes flashed open, looking at you like you were mad. Then, he was sobbing, nothing but air to give him release.

“N-no. I-I thought you were going to….” The words fell away.

“Why would you think that, silly? You thought I would give an uncontrollable puppy his orgasm? Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t _earned_ it, Freddie,” you teased, standing on shaky legs and walking to the bathroom, leaving him tied up in case he tried to finish himself off.

“It’s been _days_ , I need to cum,” he implored you, staring at your retreating form.

You only hummed something noncommittal, getting a warm washcloth to wipe yourself and Fred off. You returned to the bed, getting all the sweat and cum off your body, then undoing his restraints, cleaning off his lower half.

“Mommy, please. I need it.” He sat up, but had the good mind not to touch himself, knowing the consequences if he did.

“I can’t. I have to do an extra-credit assignment for Snape after _you_ messed up my essay. Sorry.” You didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest.

You turned towards the desk, sitting down and pulling out another piece of parchment, prepared to write about just how fascinating Mandrakes were. Fred whined, turning onto his side and trying to distract from the pain down below.

You smiled, biting your lip as you added, “Better luck next time, pup.”


	6. Pillows || R.W. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: ddlg w ron? the reader being very innocent and humping her pillow, not knowing why it feels good and ron walks in and helps her, maybe w a lil bit of edging, degrading and overstimulation 😽
> 
> Summary: When Ron catches you using his pillow for its not-intended purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 5.1k
> 
> Warnings: ddlg, grinding, technically masturbation, a touch of voyeurism but eh, edging, overstimulation, degradation, aftercare, smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), innocence/corruption, virgin!reader
> 
> a/n: I'm ass at summaries lmao. idk if this is what you wanted but it’s where my mind went :)

You were splayed out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in hopes for it to give you ideas. Hermione was out, Harry was out, Ron was out; you were left all alone in your boyfriend’s prefect dorm.

The two of you had started to spend more time in those closed quarters, and now that’s where you waited, desperately ignoring that pooling in your stomach. You hadn’t gone that far with him yet—Ron still wanted to wait until you were ready—but today the desire was getting more and more insatiable.

You couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t spare a blink more than a split-second, because anytime you did, images were painted across your lids. His lips and teeth and fingers on your neck and sliding to places that had remained untouched for your 16 years of life.

It was getting bad.

You tugged on your hair, stressed, but the sensation only made you whine. You knew you had to be flushed, despite the winter coldness. You turned on your side. Sat up. Laid back down. Reached your hands up and grabbed two fistfuls of fabrics, raising and then dropping them all around you.

He had always loved to have more pillows on his bed, and now they surrounded you. Some covered your legs and rested under your arms, warming you in a cocoon. You brought one to your face, screaming into it.

You were so _bored_.

You plopped it into the space between your legs, resuming your starfish position. You felt hot all over, itching and...and wet? You groaned, not sure what to do. You didn’t have the first clue as to how to take care of yourself—and even if you did, Ron had made it clear that _he_ was to be your first, not your fingers.

He had prefect duties, you knew that, but it didn’t make the wait any less torturous. You just wanted to cuddle up beside him, let him tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Maybe you could crawl on top of him like you did last time—his tongue brushing against the veins of your neck, thumb drawing lazy circles on your thigh, teeth-

 _Ugh_. Very, very bad.

Maybe a shower was what you needed. Something cold, sobering, because you felt high—woozy on the feeling. You were heavy and needy, unable to get properly comfortable. He should’ve been back by now.

You sat up again, secure in your decision. A frigid shower was exactly what you needed, ice to freeze off the feeling. But as you moved, no longer supine, you shifted on top of the pillow from earlier. Your hips rolled against it.

 _Oh_.

That was...odd. Almost an itch. A touch sensitive, but—but not entirely unpleasant. Actually, quite the opposite.

You shook your head, remembering yourself. You leaned forward to keep crawling off the bed, but your cunt brushed against the fabric again. An involuntary whimper left your mouth. You stopped trying to escape, a theory you wanted to test popping into your mind.

You tried straddling the pillow, completely lodged between your thighs, and planted your hands on the few inches that were stuck in front of you, keeping it in place. You rolled again, then again, a bit of pain, but something pushed you to do it some more.

You lifted up and slipped off your thin cotton shorts. You kept the panties on, then fully sat over it. You rolled your hips again, and a small moan slipped out. You felt a bit of something leak out and onto the pillowcase, and you looked down, finding a small, damp circle right where your crotch had been.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you swallowed it down, getting back to work. You rutted on the pillow, and that itch was still there. It got worse, and you whined a bit as you sped up. Fire was crawling up your body, building in your stomach, decorating the sensitive insides of your thighs as the soft fabric rubbed against them.

You leaned forward, and the itch waned, a moan taking up as you dragged your clit forward. It still hurt, body not quite yet accustomed to such a feeling, but you didn’t want to stop. You went back, making sure that when you rolled your hips, all of your cunt felt some part of it.

Something strange filled you at one point. Like chills. One ran through your body, and you clenched your eyes as a bit more liquid wet the pillow. You kept going.

Your stomach started to hurt, a cross between nausea and pressure on your bladder. It was the good kind, though, and you sighed as the world fell away. Your teeth dug into your lip, and you sped up, small cries tumbling out as the pressure increased.

A knot tying everything tightly.

It shouldn’t have felt _this_ good.

The door clicked open, and you froze, head flying up. Ron stared at you, shock lining his features.

A small smile tilted his lips up.

You flushed, shoving off the pillow and wrapping your arms around yourself. You and Ron both caught a glimpse of the wet pillow, a matching spot on your panties. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m really, really sorry.” Shame clotted in your throat.

Ron dropped his bags and robes, walking over to the bed and pushing aside some of the strewn pillows so he could sit on the edge. It reminded you of a father reprimanding a daughter. “Why are you sorry, darling?”

You looked down. “Because I messed up your pillow. And I made myself feel good without you.”

“ _Did_ that feel good?” You could hear the amusement fill his voice.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered, almost feeling like crying. “I’m sorry.”

Ron hummed, and you met his gaze, body still trembling. He had a dark look in his eyes, something you rarely got to see. He loosened the tie around his neck, discarding it along with his shoes and socks, moving onto the bed properly. “You made a mess of yourself, didn’t you, baby? Can you tell me who that pretty pussy belongs to?”

“Y-you, Daddy. It’s yours.” You let loose a breath as he brushed some of your hair away.

“Then why were you touching it without me? I don’t like my things being touched without my permission, baby. You should know better.”

You nodded against the scolding, “I’m sorry.” Your eyes widened as he picked up the pillow you had used. “N-no, it’s dirty, Daddy. It’s-”

He brought the wet spot to his nose, smelling your arousal. Your jaw dropped as he gently lapped at the fabric, a philosophical look on his face. “Don’t tell me what to do. You know that’s not your place.”

Ron dropped the pillow, sliding a hand up your bent legs instead, pushing them apart. When you didn’t listen, he sneered, “Let me see your mess. Let me see what you did.”

You whimpered, opening up, muscles trembling. You had that knot in your belly, making you slightly uncomfortable as it was still pulled tight.

“Relax, baby,” Ron said. “I just want to see your cunt. You acted out of place—y’know I don’t like that.”

You calmed down, but your eyes remained open as he slowly pulled your panties from under your bum and down your legs. You looked down, seeing the flesh pink and glistening. Ron prodded a finger, swiping it down your folds, gathering that liquid onto it.

He popped it into his mouth, groaning at the flavor. He looked to be in heaven.

You wrinkled your nose, pulling back. “Don’t do that, Daddy. It can’t be good.”

Ron glared at you, pushing your thighs apart once more. “Baby, you taste like a drug. This is my pussy, so don’t think of taking it away.”

He brushed his thumb against your clit, and you jumped away. “ _Ow_ ,” you cried. He hit a small, very sensitive part of the knot, slightly hidden by the hood.

“You didn’t finish, did you? You’re awfully tender.”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so. I-”

“You know, Harry told me something funny once. _It’s always the quiet ones_ —it’s some Muggle saying. Do you know what it means?” Ron was rubbing his hands up and down your thighs, positioning himself between them.

You shook your head. “N-no. What does it mean?”

He leaned forward, kissing you for a minute. You reacted immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him over you entirely. Hooking your legs around his torso, you accidentally brushed your cunt against his trousers, the fabric rough and making you hiss.

You did it again.

“It means,” he whispered, his breath on the shell of your ear making your insides flutter, “that it’s always the most innocent ones—the quiet ones—that are the dirtiest fucking whores.”

A whimper fell out—echoed through the air as one of Ron’s hands slid between your bodies, grazing your clit once more. Every bit of air left your throat, every thought eddied from your mind. “R-Ron,” you mumbled, pushing your forehead up into his shoulder.

He pinched your labia in warning. “You had it right before. Don’t fuck everything up now, princess.”

“Feels good,” you continued, drawing in shaky breaths. The discomfort faded away, leaving only hunger in its wake.

“Did you even know what you were doing on that pillow? Could you even realize it?” He pressed the pad of his thumb onto your hood, and you jerked against him, chest heaving.

“Just felt good,” you slurred, that knot still twisting in your stomach, but slightly waned. You wanted it back.

He pushed down, and when you gasped, he lightened. Tears welled as he drew circles, path slickened already. “You _are_ a slut, aren’t you? You put on a façade, pretend to be this innocent little girl. You almost had me convinced.”

“Ron,” you whined as that pressure built again, his thumb making intricate patterns.

He pinched your clit.

“ _Ow_ ,” you sobbed, digging your teeth into his shoulder. “That _hurts_.” But you didn’t move away.

“You liked it. Don’t pretend you don’t. Do you want me to finish the job, baby? Make you feel good?” He pulled back, looking you in the eye.

You nodded instantly, ignoring the tears still falling. “Please, Daddy. Please.”

“Say that you want it. I need you to say it.” His mask switched off, seriousness taking over his features.

“I want it,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his hand and body.

Ron grinned, but you recognized the minute his role went back into place. He latched his lips onto your neck, and you arched, mewling. And you nearly died as he cupped your heat, his palm digging into your knot. “You need some help, don’t you? Didn’t realize what you were doing and now you’re all needy.”

“Please.”

He sucked on your pulse point, tongue tracing the rapid beat. There was a bruise when he pulled back. “I love it when you beg.”

A finger pushed into your entrance. You had tried it before, but only ever experienced slight discomfort, a smarting stretch. It wasn’t like that now. Now, his middle finger slid in with ease, making you wriggle against the sensation. He scraped a place that had your vision going spotty.

“ _Oh_ ,” you whimpered, hips struggling involuntarily.

“What? Did you like that?” When you didn’t respond, he slid the finger away, straightening it.

“N-no, no, no. Go back. I liked it. A lot.” You shot a hand down, wrapping it around his wrist, trying to redirect his finger somehow. You wrestled for control, losing any propriety or submission because you had felt that knot tighten for a moment, then release when he moved.

“Don’t be a pest. I told you not to touch what’s mine.”

“But—Ro-”

He froze, pulling out to place a light slap on your clit, having you arch again, thighs pressing together for friction. “Fucking slut. You can’t do anything right—I don’t think you even _deserve_ to cum.”

“ _Daddy_.”

“I can make it rough for you,” he whispered, replacing his hand, this time a second finger accompanying the first. You winced at the stretch, a few tears falling as he pumped them into you harshly. “Would you like to have your first orgasm be while you’re crying? I know you like the pain.”

You weren’t capable of cohesive thoughts, not as he hit that same spot as before, practically punching it with his fingertips every time he thrust back in. Your thigh muscles shook a bit, cramped. You were gasping sounds, but none of them connected enough to enlighten Ron that he should _never_ stop.

“Or, we can go slow,” he took the pace down, matching his low voice and words. You missed the speed immediately, the lazy rhythm making you almost uncomfortable, impatient. “Build it up so badly that you would even realize you came six times until you couldn’t walk for the rest of the day. I’ll drain every fucking _ounce_ of pleasure out of you.”

“How about here, baby? Do you want me here as well?” He thumbed your clit, and fireworks lit in your stomach. The circles he massaged had you bucking, once more biting into his shoulder to contain yourself.

“F-fast. I think,” you gasped down a breath of air, “I think I might explode. I need it, Daddy. I wanna cum for you. Like your slut.” You adjusted to the two fingers, so when he made the ‘come-hither’ motion while still inside of you, your scream was edged only in ecstasy.

“Of course, darling. That’s all you ever will be—some pathetic slut who couldn’t understand how a pillow made her happy.”

And then, he was fucking you with his fingers. He had his hand tilted so every thrust shot at that special spot. You bent and unbent and turned and writhed under him. The feeling was all-consuming, drowning you—holding you underwater as he moved his thumb back up to your clit, rubbing those quick circles enough to have you drawing blood from his shoulder.

You knew tears were falling, only from the sheer enormity of _feeling_. You slipped out from your body, no thoughts at all except those humiliating, degrading insults and his fingers making you feel like you were on cloud nine. They were opposite meanings, but combined, blended into one intention. Muddy and confusing and absolutely pleasurable.

Orgasmic.

“Daddy— _Daddy_ , it’s there. _There, there, there_.” Letters, syllables, meaningless phonetic structures fell out of your lips.

“What is, baby?” He slowed his fingers, almost pulling out, then roughly shooting them back in. It made you lift off the bed, your back tight as a bow. “Is my slut reaching her orgasm? Does she want to cum on my fingers? Make an even bigger mess?”

Helplessly, you nodded. You grew hot, flushed, trembling as he played you. Ron looked at you, hovering above and ensuring you met his eyes. They drew you in, pupils dilated, blue irises nearly gone. You could see your reflection in the black; shifting, your mouth parted, arched so much that your face was tilted toward the headboard, wanton moans a dangerous temptation.

He only kept going.

“‘M gonna….wanna cum, Daddy….please….” The knot was so tight you thought it might snap, breaking you with it.

But before it could get to that point, everything disappeared. Vanished into nothing. The knot immediately started to loosen, and another sob broke past. You dropped your spine back onto the bed, the world coming back into focus, dull ringing in your ears.

You hadn’t cum.

It almost hurt, how bad you wanted—no, _needed_ —it. But Ron only smiled, resting back onto his haunches to get a full view of your cunt. He traced the folds, got a bit of arousal onto his finger, brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes, and you saw the bulge in his pants that looked near painful.

“That’s the other way we could do this,” he murmured, returning that finger to circle your entrance. You hissed at the sensitivity. “I can make you wait—baby, I can make you wait for _hours_. And who knows? Maybe I still won’t let you cum. I take punishment very seriously.”

“I don’t need to be punished.” You sat up, but Ron loomed over you again, shoving you back down by the throat. “I wanna cum, Daddy. I want you to _make_ me.” The way he looked at you made it feel as if he really would make you wait. Something danced, pulsed down below.

“I’m not sure. You were getting off on my pillow. Those are two things that belong to me. I have to punish you somehow.”

Your lip quivered.

“I can edge you like that until you can’t take it. All you’ll know are apologies and my name. One following the other. I can make you so, so sorry. And it’ll feel good, doll. It’ll feel so good. You trust me, yeah?” He moved back over you, drawing your thighs apart.

You nodded, bucking as he slid his hand back down, brushing underneath the hood of your clit. You jumped away, too much pain and stimulation already in that area. “Hurts,” you whimpered.

“Want me to try my tongue? Want me to lick you up—fuck you with it?” He pushed your knees up, then bent down to lick from entrance to clit, swirling the nerves.

The sensation was wet, prickling, incredible. He fasted his lips over your clit, then slipped his tongue through the folds—swiped it. You closed your thighs, but his head was in the way, burying him further in what laid in between. You felt him grin.

“If I left right now,” he started, the air on your most sensitive parts making you buck, “what would you do?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he pushed his tongue into your entrance, incapacitating you entirely. He twisted it, did tricks with it, painted your insides with ten shades of pure exaltation. And he started going down on you; hot, sloppy, open-mouth kisses. He sucked on certain spots, not holding back, even as he brought you to near-overstimulation over and over.

He groaned against your cunt, and the vibrations made that knot renew. You started grinding against his face, and he only laughed, more vibrations driving you insane. Two fingers entered you, deep and finding a new location that had those fireworks exploding.

Your vision failed you, all comprehension failed you as those fingers twisted, scissored, curled against that swollen spot from before. It sent electric through your veins, shooting to your heart; the pain made you gasp. You wanted to get away, but something about it was too intoxicating.

Because even more, you wanted to cum.

“ _Daddy_ ,” you whined. “Almost there.”

His free hand wound up, blindly finding one of yours and threading your fingers together. You took a tight grip, needing him to ground you as you felt like floating away. The knot twisted, a coil winding and winding until it was unimaginably taut.

No longer could you discern what he was doing, only that you wished he never stopped. His tongue, his lips, his fingers, his _teeth_ were everywhere, lighting you on fire. Your muscles were shaking and an edge approached, your climax hanging in your peripheral.

You screamed in frustration as he pulled away once again, squeezing the life out of his hand. The actions left you raw, overstimulated, and all you could do was pull your legs together slowly, shielding yourself. He spread chaste kisses along your hipbones, teasing things that could’ve made you cry.

No. They _did_ make you cry.

“ _Please_ ,” you wailed, throat clogging as you were repeatedly deprived of something so _good_ . “You said you would help me, Daddy. This is _not_ helping.”

His chuckle was low, warming your veins. “Sure, it is. Two things you soiled, and that means two times I take away something you want. It’s only fair, baby.”

“Does that mean I can cum now? Please?” Your entire body was trembling, sweaty and disheveled. Much more of a mess than you had started.

Ron smiled at you, shifted forward so he could press his lips to the back of your hand. You saw his tongue dart out, licking the arousal left on his chin. “I have some work to do—prefect duties and all that.”

You snorted. “You? Doing work?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pinning yourself under his body. You kissed up his throat, sucking and dragging your tongue up the veins. Ron groaned, and it made something pool lower. “I can make you feel good, Daddy. I’m ready.”

Contorting your arms and torso, you got your shirt up and over your head, discarding it to the side. You silently thanked the fact that you had forgone a bra, easier access to your breasts. The hardened nipples pressed against his chest, and it earned another groan.

“I didn’t take you for a tease,” he murmured, slanting his mouth over yours. He bit down lightly on your lip. “I can punish you for that too.”

You shook your head immediately, and he chuckled again, though that pooling did grow. “If you own me, then take me. There’s no teasing at all.”

Ron pulled back, sparing one last peck before getting off the bed completely, languid as he wandered to his desk, falling into the chair and drawing parchment. “Maybe later,” he brushed you off, a careless wave of the hand.

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me. I have things to do, things that are more important than some pathetic whore.” And then his attention was diverted, focused on an assignment you just knew he didn’t understand a word of.

You sighed loudly before resuming your initial position, stretched out on the bed, this time the boredom overshadowed with something else. A much heavier desire. You spared a look to the back of Ron’s head, but it was bent intently over his desk, and you could feel the smile permeating through the room.

 _Ugh_. Parallels, while usually fun, could be quite frustrating at times like these.

Desperate times.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

You spared Ron another look, then watched the room. You were slick, soaked with arousal and spit and sweat and you thought you might as well take advantage of natural lubrication. Silently, you trailed a hand down, feeling how wet you were.

Extremely. Unimaginably.

You started at the entrance, circling it, gasping at the feeling. It wasn’t as good as when Ron did it, but there were still overstimulated nerves to be toyed with. You let a moan slip out, but he ignored you.

“Don’t be a brat,” he growled, still not turning.

You neglected the advice, sliding up to your clit. You felt along the folds, a realer moan fell at the first circle you drew on the knot. The positioning wasn’t right to rub it with your thumb as Ron had, so you tried something that felt more comfortable; your index and middle finger had perfect access.

Copying his actions, you tried fast circles. Another shudder ran through your body, and your legs shook with abandon. It hurt, beyond stimulated, but you could only keep going, that knot still very much alive. After a minute, an itch started to build; you caught a certain angle, and you near-screamed, speeding up as that coil got tighter than ever.

You didn’t notice Ron had moved until a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping your ministrations. His teeth were bared, glaring as he took away your third orgasm.

“You are so lucky—so fucking lucky. On your knees. Now.” His voice was hoarse, and you moaned a bit, keeping your eyes closed as his grip tightened.

“ _Now_ ,” he snarled, pulling your hand away, throwing it to the side. 

You nodded, slowly pushing yourself up onto shaky legs. The lights were brightened, sounds cotton as Ron pushed your knees apart. Your brow furrowed, looking at him with concern. But he paid it no mind, simply grabbing your original pillow and sliding it into the space between, pushing your shoulders down so your cunt was flush against it.

“Wha-” you started, wriggling around, then hissing at just how sensitive the area had become.

Once you were positioned properly, he sat back in his chair, reclined as his lip curled. “Ride it. Don’t think of stopping—not even when you cum.”

“But I’ve never-”

“You’ll know. So will I. I’m making it up to you, baby. Be more appreciative. This will make you happy.” His words were convincing, dripping of sweetness. Like honey.

You nodded, chewing your lip as you planted your hands like you had the first time. From there, you wasted no time, rolling against the pillow. A moan immediately fell out, the process so much smoother and pleasurable than before. You were bare against the fabric, but it didn’t stop you, the receptivity so much higher.

Your eyes watered as you sped up; half from overstimulation and half from the way Ron degraded you like he would a pile of dirt. You focused on the friction near your entrance, your clit still too sensitive.

Ron hummed, but stayed silent, watching you intently. You looked up, closing your lids as the actions became a chase. They weren’t elegant—not in the slightest—and you started bucking back and forth, the release feeling so far yet so close.

“ _F..fu...fuck_ ,” you stumbled over the words, warmth blooming somewhere low. The pain faded entirely, muscles spasming as you tried to go as fast as possible, desperation serving as motivation.

Your hands were so tight that they flushed away from their normal color; red and white and _desperate_. Vaguely, you tasted iron in your mouth, but it meant nothing, especially as the sounds leaving it were so much more guttural.

They stemmed from somewhere deep in your throat, and as you shifted, legs spread and exposing more, they grew louder. Ron made a noise of his own, something caught in the crosshairs of a groan and curse.

You whimpered, clenching your eyes shut as you concentrated on finally being given an orgasm. You heard the bed creak with how quick your movements were, but it meant nothing. Your tits were bouncing as you rode the pillow, hair stirring as you gasped, pushed to the very edge.

“Please,” you whined, that knot nearly hurting your stomach. You didn’t know what you were asking for.

You felt his hands surround you, no longer sitting in his chair. They brushed against your neck and shoulders, goosebumps erupting on the skin set alight. The mattress dipped for a second as Ron crawled onto it, hands finding your waist; not controlling, but steadying.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You gently lifted your head, peeling your eyes open to find his even more encapsulated in black. There must have been desperation in your features, because he finally granted you the one thing that sent you over the edge.

“Cum.”

Your vision turned white, blood rushing in your veins as you screamed, torn and muffled by your hand. You went faster, trying to ride it out and wring as much from it as possible. Your legs were quaking, arms tight and contracted as you felt like you nearly ascended, chest rising then falling back into your body.

For a moment, there was only breathing. You could feel everything around you, every sense picking up every observation. You leaned forward, finding Ron’s shoulder as his hands rubbed up and down your arms.

“You made such a mess of yourself,” he hushed you. “Getting off on a fucking pillow. Dirty fucking whore,” he brought up his words from before.

You shook slightly, off-balance as you noticed how soaked the pillow was. You tried to get back onto it, remembering his command not to stop, but you collapsed forward again.

Ron lifted you off the item, gathering you up into his lap so you were seated bridal-style across him. You laid into his arm, drained, until his hand slid down, parting your legs and feeling your cunt. You sobbed, his touch like needles.

“You liked that, yeah?” He fingered your entrance, getting some of the cum and pulling it to his lips. He sucked the digit off.

“Yes, Daddy,” you murmured. “Was really good….wanna do it again….”

He kissed your forehead, pulling you tight to his chest. “Not tonight. Too much for your first time.”

“But we didn’t even get to….” You let him finish the thought.

“Trust me, baby, we will be doing a _lot_ of that. But not tonight. You wanna get cleaned off?” His voice was much softer than before, soothing you.

You nodded, but exhaustion threaded through your lashes, dragging them down. “In a minute.”

He chuckled, and you fell deeper into his comforting warmth. It was a different sort of drowsiness, making all your thoughts and worries disappear for a while. You barely noticed when he lifted you up, bouncing against his chest as he walked you into the bathroom.

You jumped, then relaxed as he placed you into the warm tub of water. Your muscles thanked you immediately, especially as Ron cleaned you off, massaging out the aftershocks. He drew the washcloth up and down your body, careful as he went inside your thighs.

And when he was done, he dried you off, doing an impressive bit of magic as he transfigured the sheets into something clean, laying you under the covers. You were half-asleep as he walked away, reaching your arms out blindly for him to come back.

He smiled, shaking his head, then coming to the other side of the bed, turning out the lights as he slid in beside you, instantly drawing you into his arms. His length poked at your back, but you could hardly remember it.

“My first orgasm was to a pillow. Can you believe that?” You wrapped yourself tighter against him while you whispered.

“Can’t say I wasn’t the least bit jealous. I know you’ll make it up to me, though.” His laugh made you descend further into unconsciousness, bringing you to rest.

It was quiet for a bit, his hands still idly massaging and rubbing your muscles, making sure no soreness or tremors would persist. His breathing slowed your own, eyes burning until you closed them, letting yourself be lilted away.

“Ron?” you asked after a few minutes. He roused a bit behind you, and you realized he had been falling asleep as well, despite his clearly still awake member.

“Hmm?” You felt the vibrations on the shell of your ear, barely holding on long enough to respond.

“I don’t think I’ll ever see pillows the same.”


	7. Errant Arrows || D.M. x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine’s Day is a time for spending with significant others, but it seems some past partners are ready to make a reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 8.1k
> 
> Warnings: smut, bloodplay, literal drinking of blood, knifeplay, literal slicing skin, marking, slapping, fingering, CHEATING, toxic behaviors i won’t lie, degrading, getting hit with a belt?, exhibitionism technically but it’s just a phone call, if there’s anything else just lmk
> 
> a/n: slight muggle au i guess, with phones and university. and cedric doesn’t die?? idrk just canon-divergent

“Having fun, love?”

You grinned, taking a few steps forward to place your hands on Cedric’s shoulders, his immediately finding a home on your waist. His fingers tightened as a laugh bubbled past your lips, breathless and high off adrenaline.

The night club was loud, stuffy, but none of that mattered right now. Not with your boyfriend trailing kisses down your neck, bypassing decency amongst the throngs of partygoers. It was a little celebration for you and Cedric, a Valentine’s Day revelry

“Yes,” you mumbled, hands roving across his expanse of shoulders. Hard muscle was held beneath that supple skin, a Quidditch player through and through.

“How ‘bout we get out of here? Go have some fun?” He slid a hand down, groping your ass as he pulled you flush against his front, rolling his body as a tease. “Just you and me?”

You nodded, not needing any elaboration. You had felt some insatiable craving the past few days, so much more idle time now that you were no longer trapped in paperwork and last-minute university assignments for hours. Cedric had been just as busy, and, evidently, just as desperate.

“Show me a good time, yeah?” You got pushed further into his chest, trapped in crowds of intoxicated college students. Cedric only held you closer as you tied your arms around his neck, mouth next to his ear.

And in doing so, you met a pair of silver eyes watching you from the bar. Sharp as an arrow. Three months, and that animalistic aura never left your _ex_ -boyfriend. The coincidence of seeing him there tonight was almost too much. You bit down on your lip subconsciously, almost regretting your current position with Cedric, his hands squeezing while your breath brushed addictively against his sensitive skin.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. Smirked. Took some level of power over you.

You winced as your teeth punctured your flesh, blood welling and coating your already tinged lips. You instinctively darted your tongue out, licking the small hurt and savoring the familiar iron tang.

He tracked the movement, Adam’s apple bobbing as the dark liquid changed shades under the strobe lights. He looked like he considered cleaning the cut up himself.

With his own tongue.

You shook it off, blaming your flush on body heat and Cedric’s fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “Let’s go,” you murmured, backing up only enough for him to situate one arm around your hips, tucking you against his side as the two of you pushed your way toward the exit.

Bodies were surrounding you, but all you knew was the growing anticipation at the forefront of your mind. In the cool midnight air, you stumbled to a deserted alley, holding onto Cedric as he Apparated you into his flat.

From there, you relied on muscle memory alone to guide you to the couch, still buried in his shoulder. You reached for your boyfriend’s other arm, twisting it so you could see his watch. The number tilted a bit in your tipsy lens, and you gave up, glad to see the cushions a few feet away.

“How long did we last?” you slurred as Cedric fell to the couch on his back, pulling you on top to straddle him.

He squinted at his watch, answering, “‘Bout an hour. Better than last time.”

You smiled, taking the lead and pressing your lips to his. He responded eagerly, dragging his hands up and down your spine, goosebumps floating up to your skin. It was a soft kiss, despite the neediness plaguing both of you. Cedric was always gentle with you; like you were something to be praised.

And you liked that. Feeling appreciated. You swore you did.

His tongue swiped against you, asking for permission. You responded in an instant, opening and letting your own meet his. He pulled back a moment later, bringing one hand up and pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, dragging across the broken skin.

“Is that a problem?” Your breaths were coming in heavy pants, but some part of you was stalling at the interruption. Turned off, slightly.

“N-no, of course not. Just—” he pulled you back to him, an open-mouth kiss as his tongue moved across your lip again, “—tastes funny.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, but Cedric was already attacking your neck, sucking a bit, but not enough to leave a mark.

“S’alright. Don’t mind.” Though you did note that he was avoiding your mouth.

Nonetheless, you let yourself be carried away, grinding on his erection as he unzipped your dress, the fabric tearing loudly as he shoved it down to your waist. There was never much foreplay with him, so when he dove a hand under the skirt, finding your lace panties, there was no surprise at all.

His mouth traced down your chest, the valley of your breasts, your stomach, just as he slid a finger inside of you. It was already a tight fit, and you winced as he entered a second one. Normally, you enjoyed the pain, but you couldn’t deny that Cedric wasn’t the best at it.

“Sorry, doll. Just trying to get you nice and ready,” he apologized, kissing back up to your neck and staying there as his thumb fumbled for your clit, massaging it.

You moaned and rocked against him, feeling yourself relax under his touch. The two fingers began to move with ease, and you set to tackling his shirt, unbuttoning rapidly and shoving the fabric away.

Cedric hummed in approval, and his hand left you, unfastening his trousers instead. You heard the belt clink, and a shudder ran through you. Memories of past uses. Past _partners_. You pushed him down at the thought, kissing him with fervor as he threw the belt aside, more focused on pumping himself.

Foil crinkled. His hands roamed up and down your back and sides. And finally, he aligned himself with your entrance, tip barely pressing in.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, then sliding you over his cock, just a few inches at a time. Once bottomed out, you lifted up, hands planted on his chest to ride him properly.

You rolled your hips, not the friction he wanted, but still hitting all the right spots. With your knees bent on either side, you closed your eyes, biting into the wound as you focused only on the pleasure. A moan slipped out as he fit even deeper, filling you up entirely.

Cedric resumed a grip on your waist, encouraging you to start bouncing. You had never preferred to be on top, and you were unsteady as you lifted yourself up a few inches, then dropping back down. He groaned immediately, thumb rubbing light circles on your skin.

Sighing, you remembered yourself. You found a comfortable positioning on the large couch, then got to work. Your breasts jiggled at every movement, and he seemed entranced by them, torn between closing his eyes and drowning in pleasure, and watching them just as intently.

At a certain point, he chose the former, breaths falling heavy from his parted lips, hips raising slightly to meet at a thrust. And when his groans increased in volume, you knew you were doing well. Your own whimpers fell out, but they were nothing compared to his.

You scrunched your eyes, but there was something missing. Something that had been missing for three months. Cedric always made sure you finished, but it wasn’t the same.

Wasn’t the same as _him_.

You dragged one finger down your boyfriend’s chest and abs, to which he arched to meet, then finding your own apex. He lifted his lids to see your movements, and you felt him twitch inside of you. You sucked in a breath, knowing what needed to be done.

As you rode him, you rubbed circles on your clit. Figure-eights. Took your other hand and brought it to your breast, rolling the nipple. The coil immediately tightened, fogging you up and opening your senses to only the ministrations being performed; the fullness, the massages, the smarting pain as you pinched your peak.

It was enough to bring you closer, the two fingers taking care of your clit speeding up, moans tumbling just behind. He twitched inside you again, and his muscles went taut. You clenched your walls around him, giving that final push as you worked on yourself.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he ground out, shuddering as he broke over his climax. His fingers dug in, just as you finished yourself off, no longer bouncing.

He softened inside of you as you met your own release. Cedric’s thumb slipped down like an afterthought, moving your hand away and taking over to help you ride it out. You let him do it, soaking up any rays of ecstasy.

You shakily got yourself off of him, lifting and falling back so you were seated awkwardly on his thighs. He sat up, taking off the condom and tying it up before dropping it onto the floor. You smiled at him as he leaned towards you, brushing the hair out of your face.

“Y’know I love you, right?”

You gulped. Neither one of you had said it yet—well, up until now. Something about it made your heart trip over itself. Rise to your throat. Not in a good way. “Oh?” you managed, breathless and blaming it on your post-coital high.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I like you a lot—love you.” It was dim in the room, but you could see the slightest shifting of his eyes. “And you don’t have to say it back now, but...but I just thought you ought to know.”

Iron twisted in your mouth, slid between taste buds, a bad taste infiltrating your tongue. A wrong one. You pressed a kiss to his lips in response. “Thank you,” you said, fixing your dress. “For your patience. It helps.”

He nodded surely. “I know what he did to—”

“Let’s not go there,” you cut him off, pushing onto weak legs. Cedric followed up after you.

“N-no, I didn’t mean it like that, just—”

You kissed him again, giving him your most convincing smile. Draco Malfoy was a topic you scarcely engaged in, and that was exactly how you wanted it. “It’s okay, I know what you meant. But I’m going to go, okay?”

It was his turn to grin, grabbing your now-settled—yet still ripped—dress and pulling you towards him. He kissed you. Long. Lovingly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he repeated.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Cedric.”

  
  


—

  
  


You stumbled into your own flat shortly after, pushing through the door and locking it behind you. It was dark, and you vaguely remembered to flick on a light, more focused on getting to your bedroom.

You dropped your shoes somewhere, purse and wand along with it, before turning on the light. You nearly screamed at the sight.

“That quick?” Draco whistled. “I really thought Golden Boy had more in him.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He was splayed out on your bed, fiddling with something around his neck. You squinted your eyes: a vial. A vial of red. He smirked when you realized what it was. “I needed to speak with you.”

“So you broke into my apartment?” You sighed, searching for any last tendrils of caution or care as you flopped onto the bed. He had seen you in worse positions already. “You’re weird, Malfoy.”

He shifted towards you, fingers playing with the tear that spanned from under the arm of your strapless dress all the way down to the middle. “Diggory plays rougher than I expected. But…” he tilted your head, searching your face and throat, “...no markings.”

He was kneeling over you, your face up and watching him widely. You had been together for too long for any fear to fill you, only confusion. Butterflies. He brushed the fabric on your other shoulder, and your chest caved in. “May I?” he asked.

You stared for a moment, considering. Could you be so unfaithful? On Valentine’s Day, too? Cedric was probably asleep by now, not a clue as to what you were doing. Who it was with. But—but Draco was right here. Right in front of you. And there was an unsatisfied buzzing in your stomach and something that hadn’t been sated in _months_ and Draco was still right here and Draco still knew just how to take care of you. Could you do that to your boyfriend?

You nodded. Draco smiled, fingering the rip before tearing it all the way down. An inaudible gasp slipped out of your mouth.

“Quiet,” he ordered redundantly, pulling the now-destroyed fabric from under your body. Another arrow shot through you as his hands dragged along your bare stomach, discarding the dress onto the floor.

You knew he’d pay for a replacement.

“These are nice,” he mused as he traced the lining of your lace bra. A perfect match to your panties, a deep red—like blood. You had expected Cedric to comment on them—hell, you wore them just for him—but they earned no compliment until now.

“Thank you—”

“What did I say?” When you didn’t respond, he slid a finger under one of the wings and pulled it to let it snap against your skin. “Don’t speak unless you are spoken to.”

You nodded, gathering the bedsheets into tight fists to take out that growing ache. You were actively cheating on your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who just said he loved you. There was _supposed_ to be guilt, but nothing negative prevailed.

“I never took you for the cheating type,” Draco spoke the thoughts on your mind. “What do you have to say for yourself?” The voice was scolding, reprimanding, that of a superior toward an inferior.

“He cheated on me first,” you whispered. “I know he has been. I find hickeys on his body, all those signs of lying. I’m not blind.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger. He shook it away. “No, you’re not.” He paused, sitting back on his haunches as you turned onto your side. An invitation. “But,” Draco continued, “that makes me correct in my own assessment, I guess. You’re a slut.”

He pushed you back down, getting on top to straddle your hips. One hand took a grip around your throat, squeezing just enough to narrow your air supply, and the other pushed down on your bare stomach. “Slut,” he spat. “S”—he traced the curves onto your skin, your lungs still constricting—“L”—two lines, one vertical and one horizontal—“U”—the large dip, his index finger pushing you—“T”—two harsh lines.

You whimpered as slickness grew between your legs.

“Disloyal and discontent with the Golden Boy. He doesn’t give you what you want, does he? Let me guess: he treats you delicately, _making love_ to you. He hasn’t the slightest idea how to tame a brat like you. Am I right?”

You nodded, but Draco’s eyes hardened, removing his hand and holding it up to the side of your face. Your eyes widened at the soft movement, until he lifted away, sending a swift slap that had your head whipping to the side.

He didn’t let you recover, gripping your jaw roughly and bringing you back to face him. “Use your words, girl.”

The slap stung, but his palm barely touched you. It only left you with a dry mouth and a desire for _more_. “He treats me well,” you wavered, but held his eyes.

“No, he doesn’t. He cheats on you and thinks you’re a little doll to use when he gets home.” You shifted under the scrutiny, but Draco only kept going. “You’re nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. You’re his little bird that he wants to kiss gently before hiding away in a cage. Do you feel pretty behind those bars, little bird? Does he make you feel beautiful?”

A few tears welled, but you swallowed them down. “Burn in hell.”

He bent close to your ear, a mirror position to how you had been with Cedric. “Burn with me. I know you missed me. And you know that you still belong to me.” He twirled his finger around a lock of hair. “You were stupid to ever think you didn’t.”

You couldn’t wait any longer. Not with his teasing, and not with the heat that still bloomed in your cheeks. The minute he pulled away, you shot your hands to his hair, crushing his lips down to yours. He laughed, you felt it, and his tongue didn’t ask permission before parting your lips.

He slipped in; tasting and roving and seeking you out. And when he found you, he gorged himself. Obscene, erotic, pornographic. He tasted and tasted and tasted and left nothing behind. Nothing for you to survive on but _him_.

Gasps, moans, whimpers filled the air, and like a ton of bricks, the idea that you hadn’t felt this good in so long hit you. Three fucking months. Draco stepped in and asked you exactly what you were already wondering: how did you make it without him?

His tongue searched your lip for puncture wounds; sensitive, but not bleeding. Until he bit down, ignoring your welp as blood filled both of your mouths. He drank it in, then reached his finger between your mouths, digging for more. He dragged the crimson over your lips, painted them like it was makeup, then drew it from the corner of your mouth to your jaw.

“You taste incredible,” he praised, sucking on your bottom lip until it was swollen. He kissed you breathless, dizzy, dazed. “I just want every single piece of you. Wanna fucking _demolish_ you.”

You didn’t know where it came from—where the urge to tell him was sourced. Maybe it was influence from Cedric, or maybe it was the feeling of coming back to him after so long. Regardless, it spilled out against your will.

“I love you. Still. I never stopped.”

Draco froze. Solid. Almost a statue in the way his grip felt like crumbling stone. His mouth was still perched on top of yours, lips a hair's breadth away. He didn’t respond, not for a moment, then: “What did I say about speaking?”

You pushed the blow down, letting it sink to the back of your mind as he tore you apart. You knew what he wanted. _Old habits die hard_. “Please, sir.”

He bit down again, and you yelped at the hurt. “You haven’t been tamed, have you? Not in a while?”

“I don’t need to—”

“ _Quiet_ ,” he hissed. His teeth were bared, and he met your eyes. A volley of arrows.

“But—”

He jumped off of you, glaring. Metal glinted in moonlight flooding through your window. Draco was taken in silvers; pale skin, platinum hair, silver eyes. Different shades of the same color. “You’re being a brat.”

You narrowed your eyes, sitting up as well. Hair was stirring on your face from your panting breath, fingers trembling as you crawled back towards him. You slipped into a haze, brain functioning with one goal in mind.

“Now you’re silent?” he laughed, shaking his head. “Do you still have it?”

Your jaw clamped shut. You knew what he was asking for. Saw the twin around his neck. “Nightstand,” you eventually supplied.

Draco smiled and leaned toward the item in question, opening the single drawer. There was the soft fumbling of chain as he plucked the necklace up. The pendant spoke of damnation. It was a vial of his blood, just like his was a vial of yours. They were magicked to never rot, always fresh.

“Put it on,” he instructed, tossing it in your direction. “I want you marked as I fuck the brat out of you.”

You shakily placed it over your head, the charm falling down to beat against your breastbone. A perfect view.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you so you faced the mirrored closet. And then he kneeled behind you, catching your eye. He had always been a work of art, but being deprived of him only made a twisted sort of addiction grow. He took your breath away. Grabbing both your wrists tightly, he held you against him, back to his chest, then sinking back down to his haunches so his breath was right at the shell of your ear.

“Watch yourself as I do this. See the slut that you are.” He brought your knees up and spread them, leaving you completely exposed. Then, he slipped that free hand down, ghosting it along your painfully wet panties.

He applied pressure, cupping you with the entirety of his long fingers. Then, massaging, the friction sending excited tingles up your spine. Your breaths came out loose, unsteady and tilted with whimpers as he made circles, then simply moving up and down. Your eyes locked onto the mirror, and your legs contorted but never closed.

“Look at you,” he cooed. “See how fucking wet you are? I bet I could just….” he pushed his middle finger into your entrance, still barred by the cloth. “Doesn’t even take effort.”

“ _S-sir_ ,” you whimpered, turning the side of your face to his chest. The hand on your cunt lifted, making you squirm, then swatted back down. You cried out, but he only renewed his ministrations, teasing and testing.

“I told you to watch. Isn’t this what you wanted?” His erection poked at your back, and you only leaned further into him.

“ _N-no_ . _I don’t_ ….”

He sped his hand up and you lost all train of thought. “You already came once, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so sensitive?”

You nodded, writhing in his hold. The way he touched you was still so perfect, and you weren’t wrong when you had believed he would take care of you.

“I must say I’m surprised. I didn’t think he could make you cum.” His voice... _Merlin_ , the things his voice did to you. Deep and hoarse and still lilting enough that you wanted to trust every word out of his mouth.

You moaned as he changed angles, going faster still. “I did it myself. Can only fake it so many times before it gets old.”

He barked a laugh, and you nearly fell in love with the sound all over again. “What a whore. Always just _needing_ to cum.”

You managed another nod, falling against him as he continued. 

The moment was soon interrupted, as your ringtone went off, breaking through your bubble. You rolled your eyes, Draco pausing and waiting for it to stop. A minute later, he went back to work as silence replaced the annoying sound.

He had been right. You _needed_ to cum. You were getting closer, but the pace he had set wasn’t enough. “ _Please_ , sir. I wanna—”

Your phone went off again.

“If you don’t answer it,” he murmured, “I will. And something tells me that your boyfriend will not be too inclined to hear _my_ voice at this hour.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered, and Draco released one of your hands. “ _Accio phone_ ,” you cast the wandless spell, the device shifting in your bag before finding its way out and into your palm.

Indeed, Cedric’s contact photo grinned up at you.

You answered it. “Hey,” you whispered, “everything okay?”

_“Yeah, I just wanted to check up on you. You rushed out earlier.”_

Draco gave no warning as he took a much faster tempo. Circles, then side-to-side motions on your clit that had you seeing stars.

“Yeah—Yeah, I’m—” you clenched your eyes to school your voice, “—‘m fine, Ced. Just a bit tired.”

“ _You sure? You sound off. Throat’s a bit scratchy. Did you take your temperature?_ ”

You cursed the prolonged conversation, then scrambled to mute yourself as Draco edged you closer to climax. Swallowing again, you unmuted. “I’m good, no fever. Thanks for asking but—”

“ _Do you need me to come over and_ —”

You yanked the phone away from your ear and muted as fast as you could when Draco slipped a hand under your panties; direct contact with your clit as he resumed that brutal pace. The scream was unavoidable.

“No muting,” he commanded with a look towards your phone.

“ _Asshole_ ,” you hissed, but did as he said. “Don’t come over, Ced. I’m fine here, just going to go to sleep soon.”

He made a deflated sound, but kept going. “ _What about tomorrow? Are you busy?_ ”

You bit into your lip as Draco removed his hand, leaving you shaking and on the brink. He wrapped the arm that had held your wrists around your knees, raising them up and letting you fall onto your back. You stared up at him as he kept your legs straight in the air with your panties pulled down (or up), the other hand attending to that pulse down below.

“ _Y/N? You there?_ ”

You put the phone back to your ear. “Yes, sorry. Bad internet. Tomorrow, I—I’ll see.”

“ _I mean, you don’t work, and neither do I. Is there any other reason you can’t?_ ”

“Um—” you broke off as Draco plunged a finger inside of you, thumbing your clit. He made sure you kept that eye contact as he did so. You narrowed your eyes. “I—I’ll see,” you repeated.

“ _I don’t like when you do this. You can never give me a straight answer and_ —”

You brought the phone away from your ear, knowing you had at least 30 more seconds of this tangent. Draco seemed to notice it too, and began driving two digits into you roughly. Your panties were at your knees, locking them together, and you barely had enough time to turn your head into the bedsheets to contain your scream when he curled his fingers.

“ _Did we get disconnected? Hello?_ ”

You thought a million ill things toward your boyfriend and did your best to control your noises. “I’m here. Tomorrow’s fine. I’m going to go to—”

“ _Want me to bring some soup? I have this really good family recipe that I think you’ll like_.”

Draco was still moving his hand, twisting and turning and going back and forth that it was a wonder your climax only resurfaced now. A coil got so tight you couldn’t breathe, especially once his thumb didn’t hold back on your clit, going fast and hitting the nerves precisely.

“Yes, yes. All of it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Ced.”

Draco chuckled, and you should have felt more fear than you did that you hadn’t yet hung up. But you still gave Cedric no time to question as you clicked the red end-call button, then shutting off your phone and throwing it in a random direction.

He realized what you had done, then entered a third finger, not stopping as you screamed, vision distant and discolored. You sobbed as the orgasm dragged through you, making your blood rush and everything dissolve. Draco kept going, hitting your swollen g-spot and clit until you were begging him to stop.

You reached your hands toward him, grabbing at his wrists, and that finally made him back away.

“Don’t move,” he scolded, and you couldn’t blink before he landed a slap to your ass.

You arched, still crying and shaking. And he only did it again. Once more. “I’m sorry,” you blubbered when he paused. But when you lifted your lids to see him, you realized his intention.

His belt clinked as he pulled it out, folding it in half and watching you carefully. “I thought that would get you under control. Cheating on your boyfriend _while_ on the phone with him? That’s disgusting.”

“I—”

You cut off as he brought the belt down, resounding through the room. It was a dull pain, but it still made you lift off the bed, pushing to get away. But Draco’s grip was strong—just as strong as the next hit.

“I’m _sorry_ , sir. I’ve been good.” There were tears soaking your face, and Draco relished every drop.

You were lucky, however, because he did keep it short. Only enough that you had minor welts, to which he dragged his fingers across, making you cry out over and over.

“Consider it a gift,” he said as he gave a chaste kiss to your lips, fully removing your panties and bringing your legs back down. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You winced, but he didn’t respond, only lifting you and spreading you out in the middle of the bed. The fabric burned against your bottom, but you knew that any complaints would fall onto deaf ears. Your clit was positively _throbbing_ at this point, both from overstimulation and the craving for more.

“I will say that I did come here prepared,” he noted, reaching to the side of the bed and pulling out a small duffel. A small, very recognizable duffle. “You remember this, don’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, knowing all the things that were hidden inside. Crops and beads and plugs and vibrators. _Gods_ , you missed this. “Please,” you whimpered.

He plucked a knife out, and the light glinting off of the top made you squirm. It had always been one of his favorites. Draco hovered back over you, discarding the bag and placing himself directly above you. He started at your throat, pressing the tip into the junction between it and your jaw.

“Same safeword?” he asked. When you gave your approval, he continued, “And color?”

“Green.”

He grinned.

Tracing your throat, he lined every vein and curve and line on it. The jugular, the carotid, the barely-there Adam’s apple. He didn’t break the skin, only detailed it—showed you who you belonged to.

“You know,” he started, “if I were anyone else, you would look pathetic right now. You would look like a pretty bird trapped under knifepoint. Can’t think, can’t move, can’t save herself.” He found your collarbones, dragging the blade so the lightest of scratches came through. In the dips and the curves, your heart beating out your chest.

Draco lifted the knife. Held the inside of his forearm above your head and made a slash by his radius, farthest from his most important veins. Blood immediately dripped down, crimson staining your face and making tantalizing rivulets down his arm.

He placed the cut directly above your mouth, message clear. _Drink_.

You obliged, two hands wrapping around his arm and bringing it to your lips, opening. You sucked on the cut; his iron, his taste flooding your sensory until there was nothing left. The arousal was undeniable, and you licked up the wound, fearful your supply would run out. It was one of the more personal things the two of you had engaged in. And also your favorite.

He kept the knife away for a moment, bending the arm still holding it and bracing himself by your ear so you could keep drinking. “The difference with me is,” he breathed, shuddering as your teeth brushed the sensitive skin. “With me, I keep you safe. You are powerful with me. I don’t like Diggory, I don’t like Potter—and I don’t want you wasting yourself on them. With me, _we_ are great. Beyond so.”

His blood started clotting, and you whined when he pulled away, two arms now on either side of your head. He leaned down, brushing a kiss, only to pull back a handful of inches. “Tell me, pretty bird, do you feel like a god?”

You blinked up at him. “God _dess_.”

With your cheeks flushed, pulse racing, Draco thought he might die at the sight of you. He slid down, picking up the blade and cutting down your sternum, letting the blood flow freely. Eye contact was kept as he licked his tongue from bottom to top, then closed his mouth over the length of it, watching you all the while.

His tongue flicked across, and he sucked and savored and made something _pound_ lower at that stinging and soothing sensation. _This_ pain, you never minded. Not when Draco knew all the right balms. Or aggressors. Perhaps both.

“Goddess,” he corrected himself when he lifted up.

You giggled, reaching a hand up to find the smeared scarlet on his lips, leftover dripping down his chin. You felt the same on your own face, a mess and utterly _alive_. “Both of us. Rulers.”

He grinned, something much softer coming out now that the blood took off the edge. “I’d build you a kingdom. You know that.”

“Nothing with them, everything with you.”

“Everything.”

At this point, you couldn’t remember _why_ you had even broken up with Draco. Probably something small, a tiny catalyst when the both of you were fresh out of war. Indeed, his Dark Mark was coated in blood, the culprit being the cut just a few inches above. It was a vermillion so deep it was almost black.

You sighed as he kissed down your body. He knew your anatomy like the back of his hand, located every bone and muscle and gave them a greeting. Later, you would find yourself covered in kiss marks that looked like lipstick, but only the participating parties would know were something much more macabre.

He followed his lips with the knife, then traced back over the wounds. He brought your skeleton to the surface, outlined your ribs and hips and clavicle and you knew that if he had his way, every single vertebra would be on display.

You were aware of his wand nearby, packaged with the blood-replenishment potions, but you trusted him. That’s what made it so much more intimate; something beyond skin—a love that traced down to the blood and soul.

“Did he touch you here?” he whispers against your skin. “Did you let him touch you the way I do?” he whispers.

You shook your head, the white sheets under you turning a deep red. “He couldn’t. Even if he tried.”

You could feel the approval through his smile. The kisses, the pain—the gradient of good and bad so blurred that you felt the world melt away. You wanted Draco just as stained as you were. Wanted him on his back and your knees on either side and your lips on burning skin and blood blooming in their wake. You wanted all of that, and you could only manage your nails on his shoulders, digging so deep that platinum was streaked with scarlet when threaded your fingers through his hair.

He was between your thighs; laughing at how sopping your folds were, the tell-tale signs of uninhibited desire. He pressed a few open-mouth kisses, but didn’t linger, nudging your right leg further with his nose.

You listened, bending your knee when he told you to. You felt the blade glide against the soft skin of your inner thigh, right at your apex; an artist prepping his canvas. It was cold, and goosebumps erupted as he scraped the edge lightly, a primer made from old color.

“Mine,” he mumbled, pressing his lips against the location. And when he pulled back, the sharp tip replaced his mouth; a different sort of kiss. These were focused designs, and you winced at how slow he was moving.

“Hurry,” you whimpered as he took his time, tears welling and body trembling.

“Sorry, darling. Be a good girl, yeah?” His voice was enough of a comfort for you to relax. He wobbled his bottom lip between his teeth, perfecting his masterpiece.

You nodded, laying back and watching his concentrated face. You admired the angles, as well as the pulse that grew the more he worked, thumb rubbing tranquil circles on unmarred skin. You didn’t think of Cedric—you didn’t even want to. Not when you got a taste of something you missed for so long.

He finished his first symbol, then worked on the second. This one was much quicker: four easy and shallow slices beside the previous. “All done,” he exhaled, the flat of his tongue the topcoat.

You sat up, grimacing a bit as your body stung. The mark was close to your cunt, and you winced as he dragged his finger through your folds, gathering arousal and swiping it over his work. It stung, but it also moved the blood Draco hadn’t cleaned with his mouth away.

 _DM_ , it said.

“There’s your proof. I’ve carved myself into your body—your _blood_ , pretty bird. It’s all mine. And now I’m going to breed you like a fucking animal. Do you know why?” he inquired, lips quirking.

You shook your head as he removed his clothing and crawled back over you. “W-why?”

Draco grabbed your left hand, meticulous as he brought the knife across the expanse of your palm; a diagonal cut from top to bottom. He made a twin image on his right, then clasped your hands, intertwining the fingers. The blood merged, dripping down your wrists and onto the bed as he braced himself over you, joined hands just above your head. “Because I fucking can.”

He skimmed his free hand over your torso, finding clotted wounds and not-yet-dried blood. Your jaw dropped as he pumped his red, almost purple erection with it. All the pain fell away at the sight. Iron mixed with sweat and arousal perfumed the air, and you thought there to be no better scent.

And then he was aligning himself with your entrance, no preamble or further forewarning as he slid in at a torturously slow rate. You back arched once he filled you to the hilt, dying and coming to life again and again as he began to thrust.

You hooked your legs around his waist, and his eyes rolled back as he got that much deeper, brushing your cervix to make you gasp. It was a stretch that had become foreign over the past months, and more tears fell as he hit every nerve again and again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, fumbling for your right leg and raising it up, testing your flexibility as he bent your knee over his shoulder. Draco pressed a kiss to his initials before adjusting to the new positioning.

There was no more slow and lazy behavior as he snapped into you at once. He was almost painfully deep and there was no controlling the shaking he caused. Your entire body felt it, eyes watering and every inch of you quivering as he hit the same gathering of nerves repeatedly.

He was swearing and moaning and you wished moments like this could last an eternity, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to feel. You yourself were screaming, whimpering, crying out as he leaned forward, not noticing the smarting sting in your hips as he brushed against your clit.

It engulfed you, the intensity. And Draco drowned in it, clearing needing this just as much as you did. He took you rough and fast, and you expected nothing less. You rolled your hips as best you could, the tilt almost painful, but the resulting sounds and sensations completely worth it.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he filled you up, his cock making a slight appearance as it stretched your stomach. And it was the moment when his hand slid to your face, beneath your head and cupping the side of it that you nearly came undone. He swept the tears from your cheekbone, trying to soothe any discomfort.

The small bit of emotion, of unnecessary caress, had you clenched around him, electric making every sound cotton and shocking you like a bolt of lightning. An arrow. Everything turned black, went out like the flick of a switch, as release swarmed you. Logically, you knew you were screaming and sobbing and whimpering, but you felt nothing but pleasure.

It came from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes and had every inch shaking as waves of shock flooded you. There were tingles that felt unreal, and it had to be the longest, most intense orgasm you ever had.

You recognized Draco’s own twitching, the sight of you falling apart under him bringing him to his own climax, painting your insides with that territorial marking, muscles tight and exerted. You were still spasming as he pulled out, watching your combined cum trail on his tip and from your hole.

A bit of red tinged it, both from the unfamiliar roughness after months, and from the blood covering both your bodies.

He unhooked your leg and fell to his back beside you, chest heaving just as much as yours was. “Unbelievable. You look amazing like this.” He took in your body appreciatively, knowing he was the sole force behind every factor. The sweat, the tears, the blood. The cum. All of it.

And as much as he wanted to fall asleep right there, he got up, gathering your body and pushing you to stand. Immediately, your knees buckled, falling into his side and wincing. “Too sore,” you whimpered. “Hurts.”

“I know, but you need to get clean. And you might get an infection from all that blood if we’re not careful.”

“But—”

“S’okay. It’ll be quick. And I can heal all of those cuts,” he encouraged you as you limped into the bathroom, falling onto the toilet almost at once. Draco ran you a bath as you used the item, following his instruction.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, unaccustomed to the kindness.

“Diggory gives you no aftercare?”

You shook your head, flushing even further as you pushed the hair out of your face. “Says I don’t need it. We don’t do rough stuff.”

Draco’s eyes hardened, but he was gentle as he helped you up and into the tub, sending a spell out for his wand and bag. “Doesn’t matter what you do, it’s a part of the process.”

“And who gives you aftercare?”

No response.

You shifted slightly, scooting forward so he had room to sit behind you. Draco looked at you once, then followed you into the tub, seated where you intended him to, arms encircling you. He leaned out to grab a bottle of water from his bag, handing it over as he brought the wand and washcloth to your skin. You didn’t imagine his own sigh at the alleviation of warm water on his muscles.

He started with his wand, tapping it along the cuts covering your torso, the welts on your ass, ending with the one on your hand.

He didn’t go near your thigh, deigning to let that one stay.

Soft kisses peppered your neck as he followed with the cloth, cleaning up all sweat, grime, and other fluids from your body. This was one of your favorite parts of him—how much care he put into fixing you up.

You leaned back into his chest as he did so, closing your eyes and rubbing up and down his arms subconsciously. You shared the water bottle, passing it back and forth to take sips, savoring the cool cleanliness.

And when he finished with you, you spun carefully, grimacing as your body screamed at you to stop. But you doubted he got that type of treatment from his usual partners, and you felt you may have failed when he was with you.

You used his own wand, tapping it against the side of the tub to clean the water, then on the cut on his hand, healing it as he healed yours. Draco frowned as it disappeared, and you smiled.

“Miss it already?” you teased, running your hands through his hair.

He nodded, still staring, until you moved onto his lap, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just behind his earlobe. You sucked on the skin, brushed your tongue, and he moaned indulgently as his blood vessels popped under his skin.

You pulled back to judge the hickey, enjoying how dark it was, and knowing that the added pressure would leave it for a few extra days. “There. We’re equal.”

His lips turned up, and he relaxed a bit further as you finished cleaning him up. Even after at least two hours spent together, he never lost that ethereal glow. He bared his throat, leaning up and facing the ceiling with his eyes closed.

The edge of exhaustion permeated the air, and you both groaned as you stood, draining the water and drying off as quickly as possible. You laughed a bit as he still had to help you to the bed, using a spell to change out the sheets before tumbling into them.

You were immediately pulled towards him, eyes dropping as soon as his familiar heat formed a bubble around your bodies. A safety net.

“I love you, too, you know. I didn’t tell you earlier, but I figured it must’ve been clear. I don’t think there’s a time I ever did not.” The words were breathless, and Draco figured you had been asleep by the time he got the last one out.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do,” you mumbled against his chest.

You cheated on your boyfriend. On Valentine’s Day. On the day he told you he loved you. Yet, you couldn’t care less.

  
  


—

  
  


There was a knock at your front door, jolting both you and Draco awake.

He looked at you, wide-eyed and almost vulnerable for a moment, before composing himself. “Who is it?” he mouthed, and you shrugged, before sighing and falling back into the pillows.

Every part of last night came back at once, and you slid your hands between your thighs, just to gauge the feeling.

Yep. Excruciating.

You stumbled to your feet, nearly crying at the pain. You pulled the sheet from over his body, leaving the comforter to cover him as you wrapped it around your naked body. Your footfalls were heavy as you reached the front door, peering out the peephole.

Cedric grinned at you, holding up a container of soup.

You groaned as Draco peeked his head out of your bedroom door, raising an eyebrow.

“Cedric,” you mouthed in response, earning a laugh tied in with a bit of deprecation. You waved him away as Cedric knocked again, calling your name.

Draco silently shut the door as he hid in your room, but the smirk never left. You shook your head, uncaring as you pulled open the door, causing your boyfriend to jump in surprise.

“It’s 11 AM, did you just wake up? And why are you naked?” He pushed himself into your flat before you could stop him, dropping the container onto your kitchen counter.

“I was really tired, and it was hot in here last night.” Your answer seemed to be enough, because he moved on from the subject.

“Anyways, I was thinking brunch. That new café in Diagon Alley looked good.” He brushed some hair out of your face, smiling sweetly. You didn’t fail to notice a bit of red on his left collarbone, knowing fully well that you had only touched his right last night.

“Sounds perfect. Just wait here for a few minutes while I get ready.” 

He nodded, taking a seat at the barstool as you scrambled back into your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. You let out a squeak as you were crushed against it, Draco kissing you and making you drop the sheet.

“Don’t go. Just stay a little longer—I’ll make it worth your while.” The urge to listen was great, but not great enough.

“I’ll see you later, I promise.” You looked up, needing his reaction to be the one you wished for. The one that said, _Yes, I will see you later. Every day if I could_.

He nodded, and you read the verity in his irises. It made a breath fall out, something lift off your shoulders. Draco took a few steps back, landing on your bed and watching you as you got ready. He smiled at your struggle, and you only scowled, the soreness making it hard to bend down and search for the proper articles.

You finally found them, shrugging the blouse and skirt on quickly, then giving him a 360 of the outfit. He mimicked a whistle, and you appreciated him going along with your plan.

Cedric called your name again, and you fell forward onto Draco’s lap, kissing him deeply before attempting to get back up. He had none of it, however, and held you down for another moment, feeling your now-presentable hair.

“What are you going to do about this?” He tapped onto the cuts that remained from last night. _DM_. It was sensitive and near-impossible to forget about it.

This time, he was counting on your own reaction, curious of what you would do. You grinned, pecking him on the lips as you cast a quick spell with your wand. You got off of him as Cedric called you for the third time, fumbling open the door and trying to get out.

Draco made a small noise, drawing your attention before you could leave. You licked your lips, hiking up your skirt to show him the now clear spot. You held your wand over it for a moment, and his approval was tangible. An arrow right to the heart.

His initials—his marking—resurfaced as you pulled back that bit of magic. The one you would use to hide it from your boyfriend.

Only a glamour.


End file.
